


Broken Arms and Baseball

by skimmingthesurface, SylviaW1991



Series: Mystery Best Friends Side Stories [4]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Baseball, Car Accident, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nerds in Love, SO MUCH FLUFF, pinescone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a four day weekend on the horizon, Wirt sees an opportunity to spend some much needed time with everyone's favorite set of twins before counting down the minutes until summer. Four days may not seem worth it to some, but to him it's an opportunity to share in a part of Dipper's life that he's normally unable to see - his pitching prowess. Wirt isn't going to let anything get in the way of that.</p>
<p>Not even the car heading straight for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Arms

_I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home and I said,_

_“I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead.”_

_This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end._

_Say yeah!_

As the familiar beat pumped from his headphones, Wirt couldn’t help adding a little skip to his step as he walked along the frozen sidewalk. Mouthing the words that he’d made quick work of memorizing minutes after he unwrapped the mix tape that had been mailed to him at the end of January, he found it easy to sort of dance along to the rhythm as he walked. Hardly a month later, he knew each and every song by heart, each one carefully and painstakingly picked from his boyfriend’s extensive and eclectic music collection.

He hadn’t known many of the bands that had been chosen for this particular tape then, but he knew them all like the back of his hand now. His own music collection had been greatly expanded thanks to Dipper Pines and his eagerness to share the songs he associated with them. It warmed his heart, even in the chill of February.

_Let's be alone together!_

_We could stay young forever!_

_Scream it from the top of your lungs, lungs, lungs._

Shifting his satchel over his shoulder, Wirt hopped onto a small concrete ledge. Arms outstretched for balance as he bounced to the rhythm of the song. Feeling daring and giddy with the long weekend ahead of him, Wirt attempted a shimmy and a slide. The tape deck in his jacket pocket jostled a bit, but didn’t fall out as he continued his jaunty walk on the edge of the raised concrete.

With no one else walking on the sidewalk, it was like he was suspended in his own little, winter wonderland of music. It was one of the things he liked about picking up Greg from school every day. The walk was nice, an escape from reality for a few minutes. He didn’t always listen to music when he walked, sometimes taking the time to enjoy the lull and shift of his thoughts when they were thrumming with the nervous, panicked energy they tended to be plagued with. Walking was nice.

Though after all the walking he’d done in The Unknown, he would’ve thought that he’d be rather turned off by the prospect of walking places. If anything, it made it more appealing. His own miniature journeys.

“’Cause I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?” Wirt hummed under his breath, a pleased flush dusting his cheeks that could easily be played off by the chilled February air. “Say yeah. Let’s be alone together, we could stay young forever… Screaming at the top of our lungs, lungs, lungs…”

As the concrete ledge came to an end, Wirt leapt off it with a little flourish and a laugh. Oh, it was a good day. He’d aced two of his tests, didn’t absolutely fail the chemistry lab for once, they were selling the clam chowder he liked at lunch today, and best of all he and Greg were going to hop on a plane for a surprise visit to Piedmont, California for the four day weekend.

Dipper and Mabel had absolutely no idea and it delighted him to no end. It would make up for not getting to see his boyfriend for Valentine’s Day the weekend before, his own little gift to him. And Greg was coming because how could he not come? Plus, this was kind of part of his birthday present.

Beaming, Wirt bounced along to the beat, striking little dance moves whenever he saw fit. Shoes matching for once, he slid them along the sidewalk, hopping over cracks and icy patches to avoid slipping. His hips shimmied with his shoulders and he spun in a circle around a lamp post. Just a few more hours and he could spin around the room with Dipper.

“I’ll check in tomorrow if I don’t wake up dead,” he continued singing softly, the song approaching its end. There was only one more song on this side of the tape, so he’d have to pause to flip it in a bit.

At the intersection at the end of the block, the light turned green and the walk symbol appeared. Wirt hesitated. This intersection always took forever if he missed it. Feeling lucky, he started into a jog, letting the energy of the song propel him forward. He could make it.

_I don't know where you're going, but do you got room for one more troubled soul?_

_I don't know where I'm going, but I don't think I'm coming home-_

His foot made contact with the street right before the green man turned into a red hand and began to flash. Wirt grinned to himself and slowed back to a walk.

_This is the road to ruin…_

Even if he hadn’t had headphones on, he didn’t think it would’ve changed anything. The blaring horn cut through the music, the screeching tires quick to follow. Someone was trying to run the red light, had tried to get through the intersection before Wirt crossed only to head straight for him. His heart stopped and his body tensed. Braced for impact.

_This is it. This is the end._

“No-!” he gasped and dove for the curb, but he slipped in the snow and something hard smacked into his side, sending him careening into icy asphalt as a shattering _crack_ split the beat of the song his boyfriend picked for him.

\----

At first, Greg didn’t notice.

It always took Wirt a little bit to get from the high school to his school, so he was used to waiting. Usually he’d play with the other kids who also had to wait a while for their parents or babysitters to come and get them. Still, it never took Wirt longer than twenty minutes. Rain or shine or snow, etc.

Greg knew when the twenty minute mark was. It was when the bell rang again to call the afterschool daycare kids back inside, the kids who couldn’t be picked up until much later. Greg watched them filter back inside. Only a handful of children remained with him in the yard, so he looked to the steadily emptying parking lot.

Still no Wirt. Greg figured he might’ve had to stay a little late at his school to talk to a teacher or maybe to Sara or maybe he got locked out of his locker again. There had to be a good reason. Wirt wouldn’t dilly-dally on such an important day, after all. They were going to see Dipper and Mabel. Dilly-dallying was absolutely not acceptable.

When another ten minutes passed, Greg had moved from his usual spot by the big oak tree to keep watch on the very edge of the curb. As close to breaking the rule of not going into the parking lot without Mom or Dad or Wirt as possible. His hands tightened around the straps of his backpack.

He decided that Wirt would come walking right on up to him with a smile and an apology on his lips after he finished a verse of “Potatoes and Molasses.” Then he decided he’d be there after a second verse. By the time he finished all four verses, Greg was ready to call out a search and rescue party because his brother was never late. Something was wrong. Wirt was missing and this was a job for the Mystery Best Friends.

Not for the first time did he wish he had a cell phone of his own so he could call the other half of the Mystery Best Friends because while he was fully capable of heading this mission on his own at eight years old, even Greg could admit that it never hurt to have backup. Besides, he always felt better after talking things out with Mabel. She and Dipper would probably have good ideas as to where Wirt was.

Still, with no cell phone and a lunch box as his only means of defense, Greg darted across the parking lot. This was an emergency, exceptions to the rules could be made. He started running towards home. It was the direction Wirt would’ve been coming from, so if he was only running late and not kidnapped by alien invaders or recruited by government agents for a secret mission or swallowed up by the sewer monster Greg knew lived in the gutter at that one intersection by the dry cleaners, then he’d see him. He’d find him.

Oh, he hoped Wirt was just running late.

“Wirt! Wirt!” he called out, trying not to sound frantic, to not sound like a Worry Wirt, but Wirt was never late. This was wrong. This wasn’t right.

As he waited at a stoplight, Greg heard sirens from behind him. He blinked and turned to watch as an ambulance streaked past. His heart clenched and his eyes widened. “That doesn’t mean anything,” he told himself. “Ambulances drive by all the time. It could be going anywhere.”

It turned down the street he and Wirt took to get home every day. Greg bit down on his lower lip, impatient little noises of worry slipping out as he willed the light to change. When it did, he looked left and right and left the way Wirt always told him to when crossing the street, then tore down the sidewalk after the ambulance. Arms and legs pumping, he held his breath as he came around the corner.

The ambulance and a police car were parked at the light at the end of the street. There was a small crowd gathered around the curb. Greg hurried forward, trying to get a better look at what was going on. It looked like a car accident, though the only car pulled off to the side of the road wasn’t damaged. A policeman was talking to three pale teenagers.

“You’re all under arrest!” Greg heard the cop tell them and one of the guys burst into tears while a girl begged for mercy. “Just kidding,” the cop amended, “but I am calling your parents.”

Greg relaxed a little. Whatever this was, it wasn’t that bad. Maybe the ambulance had been called as a precaution-

A pained outcry that was all too familiar chilled his blood and Greg was surging forward, screaming, “ _Wirt_!”

It was coming from the other side of the ambulance. The first thing he saw was the blood and Greg cried out. There was blood on the snow on the sidewalk. His brother’s tape deck and headphones laid askew, his books and notes spilling from his leather satchel. Greg’s gaze darted from each individual item, piecing together the puzzle in his mind, painting the picture before he found the most important piece.

Wirt.

His eyes were squeezed shut in pain, his right arm wrenched in an odd, unnatural angle. There was a cut on his forehead, blood dripping past his bangs. His knees were scraped, his pants torn, jacket gone from his shoulders. But he was sitting up. Two paramedics crouched on either side of him, gingerly moving his arm, were checking his vitals, asking him questions that Wirt responded to with brusque nods or frantic shakes of his head.

Greg wanted to smile with relief, but as the search and rescue urge in him was appeased, it was tears that collected in his eyes instead. “Wirt.”

The sixteen-year-old opened his eyes, pupils blown wide from panic or shock or some other reason altogether, and his gaze focused on him immediately. “Greg! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you at school?”

“Why aren’t _you_ at school?” he fired back, then tried to run to him only to be held back by one of the paramedics. “Let me go!”

“It’s okay! That’s my brother! The one I was going to pick up!” Wirt reached out for him with his left arm. “Please, let him through!”

“You heard him, let me through!” Greg glared at the man in uniform until he released him. “Wirt! Wirt, are you okay? What happened?”

He wanted to throw his arms around his brother, solidify that he was really there and really okay and not kidnapped by aliens or recruited by the government or swallowed up by the sewer monster that lived in the gutter or killed by a car, but he held himself back. Wirt still looked like he was in pain, despite also looking both parts relieved and furious with him. Right, he broke the parking lot rule. Well, it wasn’t like Wirt had given him any other choice.

“I’m fine, Greg. It’s nothing, just a little accident, that’s all,” Wirt was saying, though from the way he held his arm and the blood smearing his face and the ghastly pallor to his skin said otherwise. “What were you thinking leaving school grounds? You’re supposed to wait there for me! Or go get Jonathan if I don’t show!”

“But you’re never late!” Greg protested. “You’ve never not shown!”

“We have these rules for a reason, Gregory! I need to be able to trust that you’ll follow them! What if something had happened to you? No one would know where you were or how to find you!”

“Something happened to _you_!” Greg snapped, fists clenched at his side. “I didn’t know where you were! I had to find you. You’re the one who’s hurt, Wirt. You didn’t come pick me up. I thought something happened to _you_! I was scared! You scared me, stupid!”

If his brother hadn’t been hurt, he would’ve kicked him. As it was, Greg settled for letting the tears blurring his vision fall. Wirt didn’t say anything, but he was willing to bet that it was guilt crossing his older brother’s expression now. Greg looked away from him as the rest of his brother was examined, then bundled into the back of the ambulance while one of the paramedics called their mom. Wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, Greg composed himself enough to agree when he was invited along in the ambulance since they had to get his brother to the hospital. His arm was broken and he needed a head CT and some scans and maybe even a few stitches to make sure he was alright.

Greg gathered Wirt’s personal belongings before joining him in the back, sniffling and trying to stay strong. He had to make sure Wirt was taken care of properly. It was his job. When Dipper wasn’t around, it fell on him to take care of his brother. He sat next to him for the ride, cradling his brother’s broken tape deck in his hands. It wasn’t a big deal, he had other portable tape decks. But whether the tape inside had survived was yet to be determined.

“Is the tape okay?” Wirt asked, breaking the silence as they both stared at it.

Greg bristled at his brother’s concern for his dumb tape over himself. He glared at him. Wirt was pale, worry thick in the way he breathed and in the lines that creased his face. He was scared. Greg slumped some with a sigh. He knew how important the tape was, Wirt had every reason to be concerned.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think we’ll have to wait until we can pry it open back home to see.”

“Oh. Okay.” Wirt swallowed, keeping his gaze on the tape player for most of the ride.

Greg watched him for a bit, then found Wirt’s satchel to be a better focal point. He heard a buzzing sound from it. A text no doubt. Probably from Dipper. Greg grabbed it, ignoring any of Wirt’s protests as he flipped his phone open to read the message.

“What’s it say?” Wirt asked, reaching for the phone with his left hand, but Greg held it up and away. “Greg!”

“Dipper’s just complaining about a book. I’m gonna tell him what happened.” Greg started to text him, but the strangled noise Wirt made had him look up.

“Don’t tell him yet. Wait until I can actually talk to him. I don’t want to worry him.”

“Dummy, you were hit by a _car_! Of course he’s gonna be worried!”

“Yeah, but if I can talk to him then it won’t be so bad, he’ll know I’m okay. And I wasn’t exactly hit by a car,” he replied.

Greg’s brow furrowed. “Did the car touch you?”

Wirt pursed his lips, cheeks puffing out. “Yes.”

“Was it moving?”

“Yes.”

“Then it hit you.” Greg rolled his eyes, sneakily texting Dipper while his brother was busy averting his gaze. _Wirt won’t be able to text for a bit he’s being dumb so I’ve got his phone. Oh btw this is Greg, hi Dipper._ It wasn’t much, but it would at least appease Dipper until Wirt decided to stop being dumb. 

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing he doesn’t already know,” he replied easily, elaborating when Wirt arched an eyebrow. “I told him you’re dumb. He knows that already.”

“ _Greg_.”

“Well, he does!”

“Greg,” Wirt said again, wincing when his arm was jostled a bit, then blew out a long breath. “Look, I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t do it on purpose. I was crossing the street and they ran a red light. I tried to get out of the way and I slipped. Yeah, my arm’s pretty much broken, but I’m fine. Seriously. Totally fine enough to still go see Dipper and Mabel. We’ll still make our flight-”

“Wirt, you broke your arm. Again. How are we supposed to fly to California?” Greg’s lip quivered a little. He’d really been looking forward to seeing Dipper and Mabel. Sure they saw them at Christmas, but he missed them. And he hadn’t seen them as an eight-year-old yet.

“It’s just a broken arm. Not a concussion or anything. I might not even need stitches!”

“You’re going to need stitches, son,” one of the paramedics told them. “And your shoulder is dislocated. It’s a little more than a broken arm.”

Wirt huffed out a sigh. “Okay, it’s a little more than a broken arm. I can still fly. It’s just sitting in an airplane, I won’t even have to do anything.”

“But it’s a long flight.”

“I’ll take a long nap.”

Greg puffed out his cheeks and Wirt did the same, the brothers staring each other down before the younger one broke. “I just want you to be okay.”

Wirt’s face fell, brow knitting with concern. “I’m sorry, Greg,” he murmured. “I’m okay, really.”

“Okay.” Greg held onto his left hand and squeezed it, happy to feel Wirt squeeze back. “So, what was it like getting hit by a car?”

“Terrifying. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Wirt replied dryly, in the hopes of getting a smile out of him, his own lips quirking up when it worked. “I think the driver looked about a thousand times more terrified than me though.”

“Probably thinks you’re going to sue him.”

“Oh, I am. Without a doubt. I need to pay for college somehow.”

\----

It was his wrist. His stupid right wrist again, but this time the break extended to his forearm, too. Grateful that he was still relatively used to solely using his left hand for things from the last time, despite being ambidextrous and that he preferred to use the left hand anyway, Wirt found that was pretty much the only silver lining to any of this. Luckily the breaks to his radius and ulna were clean from the last time, though it hurt like all get out. It didn’t help that he had a massive headache from hitting his head on the sidewalk. His right shoulder had also been dislocated when he threw his arm out to brace his fall like an idiot. Arm still cradled in his sling, Wirt sulked through the entire ordeal with Greg sitting by his side faithfully the whole time, even when their mom showed up.

After some serious fussing over her oldest child, she, Wirt, and Greg sat down with the doctor to go over his plan for treatment. Wirt only half-listened, more focused on the time. Their flight to San Francisco would leave in three hours. They needed to get out of there.

“His scans came back clean. He’s not concussed, didn’t lose consciousness, no signs of intracranial swelling or damage to his spine surprisingly. His stitches should heal just fine and they’ll dissolve after a few weeks.” The ER doctors were probably sick of seeing their family. This was the fourth time in two years a member of the Palmer-Whelan family was wheeled into the hospital. “Don’t be alarmed by the bruising to his side. There are no signs of internal bleeding, he’ll just be sore for a while. Being hit by a car can do that to you,” the doctor attempted to joke, but both brothers were unimpressed and their mom merely nodded before he continued.

“The swelling in his shoulder should go down in a few days and we’ll check on his range of motion in a few weeks. Once we fit his arm with a cast, he’ll be all set to go home. I’ll also write you a prescription for some painkillers. You reacted negatively to Vicodin last time, so we’ll stay clear of that. Stick with Ibuprofen.”

“Yeah, okay, great,” Wirt muttered, finally glancing away from the clock. “So we’re done here?”

“Wirt,” his mom sighed, casting him a strained look that he fidgeted under.

“Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly, glancing at his phone as it went off for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes.

_Sorry. Promise I’ll text soon. Like a real text. Love you._

“Wirt.”

“I’m listening.” Wirt closed his phone. “And I’m sorry if I’m snappish, but Greg and I have somewhere to be, so if we could hurry this whole thing up, that’d be great.”

“Wirt, you’re not going.” Brow creasing with concern, his mom shook her head. “There’s just no way.”

“Mom, what- of course I’m going!” Wirt bristled. He’d saved up for this, working part-time at his mom’s diner and the music store downtown. He’d been giving clarinet lessons, too. Just so he could set some money aside for surprises like this. There was no way this wasn’t happening. “Mom, I’m fine!”

“You were just in a car accident, sweetheart, and I don’t think that’s sunk in yet.”

“The car barely touched me!”

“Eye witness accounts say that the car collided with your right side and sent you roughly five to six feet from the vehicle,” the doctor responded.

“That’s- that’s not that far. That’s like a person’s height.” Wirt defended, gaze turning pleading as he looked to his mother. “Mom, please.”

“Wirt, I’m sorry. We’ll call the airline and we’ll reschedule. Change flights. We’ll pick a different weekend once your arm’s healed,” she told him.

Wirt shook his head, his heart shattered just like his stupid radius and his stupid ulna. “This is our only long weekend and we don’t share the same spring break.” His voice cracked. “Mom, I’ve missed him. I’ve missed Mabel.”

Her face fell. “I know, Wirt. But… summer will be here sooner than you know it.”

“It’s February, Mom!”

“And June isn’t so far away in the great scheme of things.” She tried to reason, faltering at the heartbreak in his eyes. “Wirt, think about it. Would Dipper really want you to get on a plane right after you’ve been in an accident?”

He averted his gaze stubbornly, staring at the curtain sectioning off his little corner of the ER. “He’d do it for me…” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I said he’d do it for me, and you know it.” Wirt shifted to look her in the eye. “You know he’d get on a plane to see me no matter how badly he was hurt, Mom. How can I not?”

She didn’t really have answer for that, knowing full well the lengths Dipper Pines would go for her son. Amelia Whelan sighed, shoulders sagging. Wirt perked up when she turned to face the doctor. “What is the general rule of thumb for flying right after breaking your arm?” she asked him.

He blinked. “Well, how long is the flight in question?”

“About five hours,” she replied.

“Then it’s not advised to fly for at least forty-eight hours after getting the cast.”

Wirt’s eyes widened. “Forty-eight hours? My flight leaves at six-thirty! Tonight!” He went to clutch his heart, wincing when he did with his right hand. “Why can’t I fly for forty-eight hours? It’s not like broken arms are contagious!”

“No, but the low pressure and lack of movement on an airplane can cause circulation issues on long flights,” the doctor explained. “Your arm will still be swollen for a day or two while it is adjusting to being encased in a plaster cast, which will only enhance the potential for you to experience complications with your circulation.”

“Oh my gosh. Seriously?” Wirt slumped in his chair, wincing again when his recovering dislocated shoulder and pretty much the entirety of his right arm protested the movement.

“I’m sorry, Wirt,” his mom murmured, taking his left hand in hers.

It wasn’t going to end like this. He was not going to let his stupid broken arm keep him from doing what he wanted. Brow furrowing, Wirt stared hard at the doctor.

“What if I don’t get a cast? Can I fly then?”

The doctor’s eyes widened and his mom sighed. “Wirt, you… you need a cast. Your break won’t heal properly if we don’t set it.”

“I’ll get a cast after I visit Dipper.” Wirt nodded to himself, pleased with the idea. “I’ll just stick with this sling for now and get a cast when I come back home.”

His mom was pinching the bridge of her nose. “Wirt, no. No, you’re not putting off getting a cast.”

“Why not? If I take enough pain killers it won’t even hurt!”

“You could inadvertently cause more damage by leaving it unprotected and open to further injury,” the doctor pointed out. “It’s not a concerning break now, Wirt, but you could cause lasting damage going several days without a cast. Moving the broken bone could affect it, the surrounding blood vessels. It’s really not advised, Wirt.”

“I don’t care if it’s not advised.” Wirt rolled his eyes. “I’m not getting a cast. I’m flying to California.”

“You’re absolutely _not_ flying to California and you _are_ getting a cast,” Amy replied. “We’re not arguing about this, Wirt. I’m sorry that you’ll have to wait to see Dipper, I really am, but you have to think of yourself first.”

“I am thinking of myself first! This is what I want!” 

“What if we get him a cast in California?”

The doctor, Amy, and Wirt all looked to the youngest person in the room who’d been surprisingly quiet the entire time. Greg glanced between them all, his gaze lingering on Wirt’s arm for a moment. Then it shifted to focus on their mom.

“If we get Wirt a cast as soon as we get to California, would that be okay?” Greg asked again. “Forty-eight hours is two days and we’re going to be in California until Monday, so he’d be able to fly back home with it.”

She blinked. “I don’t…” She turned to face the doctor who sighed and shook his head.

“It’s still not advised.” 

Wirt pressed his lips together tightly. “I told you I don’t care. I’m getting on a plane to California at six-thirty with or without a cast and no one’s going to stop me.”

“Wirt-”

“And I’m going with him,” Greg added, his gaze on their mother. “I’ll look after him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid and break his arm worse. And you know Dipper and Mabel will help look after him, too, when we get there.”

“Gregory-”

“I won’t do anything stupid, Mom. This wasn’t even my fault. Please. Please, we have to go.” Whether from the lingering pain or the desperation or a combination of the two, Wirt felt frustrated tears prickling at his eyes. 

Amy held up her hand to silence both of them, gaze flicking between her two sons. “Give me one minute to process this, boys. One minute.” They both quieted and sat back in their seats while she took in a steadying breath. “I’m going to call Mrs. Pines,” she told them after a moment. “I’m going to check in with her and see what she thinks. That’s what I’m doing first. It doesn’t mean ‘yes you can go.’ It’s just what I’m going to do right now.” She pulled out her cell phone, shooting the doctor an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, please excuse me for a minute,” she requested as she scrolled through her contacts until she landed on the name “Laura Pines.”

Wirt swallowed as she held the phone to her ear and exchanged a glance with Greg. His little brother shrugged, then placed his hand against his good arm for a supportive pat. As determined as he was to go see Dipper and Mabel, if their mom said no…

His phone buzzed. Another text message from Dipper. He clutched his phone in his good hand, flipping it open to check when his mom straightened in her chair and he followed suit.

“Hi Laura, it’s Amy Whelan,” she greeted, her voice lilting up a bit as she spoke. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything or- oh, good. Good. Yes, the boys are very excited, but that’s actually what I wanted to talk about. You see… Wirt was in a bit of an accident. He says he’s fine, and for the most part he is, but he did break his arm. Yes. It was while he was going to pick up Greg from school, he was- he was hit by a car. They ran a red light while he was crossing the street and couldn’t stop in time. I know. I pretty much just about had a heart attack when I heard, yeah. But like I said, he’s okay overall and he’s pretty set on still flying out for the weekend with Greg. There’s just one, small issue…”

Wirt tuned her out for the moment while she explained the situation so he could reply to Dipper. _Sorry, I’m at the-_ He paused fingers hesitating over “hospital” and decided to go a different route to keep any and all panic down to the lowest level possible. _-doctor’s right now and that’s why mom’s all weird about me texting. She wants me to pay attention. I’ll be all yours in a few minutes though <3_

“The boys and I understand that it’s asking a lot, but if you don’t mind taking Wirt to get a cast while he’s there, then I’m alright with letting them go. I’ll write a check and send it with them along with our insurance information, we’ll take care of everything. But if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine and we’ll just have to arrange a different weekend for them to visit,” Amy concluded, just in time for Wirt to pay attention to the most important part of the conversation - the yes or no.

Wirt squeezed his phone tightly with his good hand, holding his breath until a ripple of exasperation and relief crossed his mom’s face. Wirt exhaled heavily, and sagged in his seat. It was a yes. Somehow Mrs. Pines didn’t care that she’d have a kid with a broken arm in her care, and somehow he was still going to see his boyfriend and his honorary sister this weekend and everything was going according to plan despite this little snafu.

“Oh yes, of course. This changes everything. By all means, you should tell Dipper and Mabel,” Amy replied amidst her discussion with the other mother, her gaze narrowing on her eldest son while he gaped and withered where he sat.

Well, everything had almost gone according to plan…

\----

Wirt was absolutely certain he would never be on a more uncomfortable plane ride in his entire life than the five hour flight from Boston to San Francisco, and if he did, then he was already dreading that trip.

His stubborn adamance on getting to the airport in time to make their flight combined with two doses of ibuprofen kept him going until they boarded and got in the air. After that, as his stress levels receded and his worries gave way to complacency, the pain settled in. It started with a hard, dull throb, and only worsened from there. His entire right side felt like one large bruise and all along his shoulder to his wrist ached as if if needles were being inserted into his bones and then hammered into place.

It didn’t help that he realized he’d really, honestly gotten hit by a car - a real car that was running a red light in a forty-five mile an hour zone - and had somehow survived. Or could’ve been killed. He could’ve been killed by a car on his way to picking up his little brother from school, something he did every day.

The nonchalance over the events of the afternoon bled out of him. Trapped in the window seat so his arm would be safe from being jostled by strangers, Wirt’s breathing became labored and panic set in as the pain only worsened. Greg tried to calm him down, tried to talk him through it, but it didn’t help, not when people were surely looking at the weird kid with his arm in a sling crying on a five hour flight. The pain in his arm and the helpless, out of control feeling born from being stuck on a plane spun together and knotted in his chest, growing until it churned in his belly and clogged his throat. 

He wanted to text Dipper. 

He wanted to and he couldn’t, and even though he knew it was only because he was on an airplane and there wasn’t any cell phone reception, the last time his arm had been broken had been because of Bill and his body remembered and rejected that memory. So he cried and wheezed and tried fruitlessly to calm down while his little brother comforted him with pats to his knee and deep, even breaths. 

Eventually the exhaustion caught up with him, the high altitude and air pressure making him more light headed with the lack of air panic attacks allowed him, and the pain put him to sleep, fitful and restless sleep. He didn’t have his music, after all. With the tape player broken and the tape still trapped inside, the demons could easily find their way inside and plague his dreams.

The only thing that kept him under was the thought that when he’d awaken, he’d be in San Francisco, minutes from Dipper’s arms and the strength and comfort he never failed to fill him with.

\----

Dipper couldn’t recall ever being as excited and terrified as he was while waiting in the airport. Wirt and Greg were on their way, the visit a balm after months apart, and hopefully enough to keep them going until school ended. They were going to be there through Sunday, they were going to be able to see him pitch in a real game. He'd be able to curl up beside his boyfriend at night again. Hold onto him and show him just how loved he was.

But that was the excitement. Just as strong was the terror coursing through him, his overprotective nature paving the way to awful imagery of his boyfriend’s body being struck by a vehicle. Over and over again, the scene played in his mind, and his only reprieve was that Wirt was very much alive, or had been when Amy had loaded him and Greg onto a westbound flight. The moment his mother had gotten done giving them the good news, bad news spiel, he'd been on the phone, he and Mabel gathering details their mom hadn’t thought to.

Arm broken, bruising, shoulder dislocated, and his tape player broken. To keep from going too crazy, Dipper had demanded they find a tape player to replace the one lost. The hunt had given him an hour of calm, and he'd never been so grateful for the time difference in his whole life since school had been a distracting buffer before he'd even known about all of this. They'd gone to the hospital their mom worked at to find out who was on call that night and to let him know that they'd be bringing a stubborn boy in to get a cast.

A stubborn, amazing boy that was going to drive Dipper crazy if he had to sit there another moment, wondering how he was.

“Dipper, Dipper look!” Mabel nudged his side, pointing at the screen they'd sat across from. “They landed!”

“Oh my god,” he breathed, shoulders sagging. He closed his eyes, taking a few steadying breaths to prepare himself to shift from worrying to acting. They had practical things to do before he could bundle his boyfriend in bed for much needed cuddling. His alive boyfriend because the car hadn’t killed him. “Oh my god.”

The ten minutes it took between landing and disembarking took ten minutes too long for all parties involved, Wirt and Greg just as eager to see the twins. Greg played body guard as he tried to make sure no one jostled Wirt’s sling, waving madly when Dipper and Mabel were in sight. He had his backpack stuffed full of both his things and Wirt’s so his brother wouldn’t have to carry anything, so it slowed his bouncing down and he couldn't run quite so fast to meet them with it weighing him down. 

“Surprise!” Greg cheered, trying to keep a happy face and mood for all their sakes, Dipper’s expression more than enough to let Greg know he’d been worried. With good reason, too. “Or it would've been a surprise if we didn't have a little bump along the way, but that’s just how it goes sometimes, isn't it?”

Wirt smiled weakly at the two of them. “Happy belated Valentine’s Day.”

“And happy belated birthday to me!” Greg wrapped his arms around Mabel, allowing Dipper to punch or coddle Wirt in the face, whichever he so chose.

“There's always gotta be a bump somewhere.” Mabel sighed dramatically, wrapping Greg in a tight hug to soothe any worries he was hiding.

Dipper tried to roll his eyes at her, but he couldn’t look away from Wirt. Too pale, shaky, arm caught in a sling because he'd been hit by a freaking _car_ and Dipper had been across the country, in class and unaware. “Oh my god. It's a good thing you're here. I don’t know how I would've handled knowing you were hurt and not actually being able to cuddle you through the healing process.” He reached up, cupping Wirt’s cheeks. It wasn’t the tight hug he would've liked to give him, but he didn't want to risk hurting him further. “Mom's gonna take us to the hospital for your cast, I have a present for you, and I'm really, seriously glad to see you because I really, seriously love you.” He leaned forward, lifting up enough to brush their lips together.

“I love you, too. So much. I- I’m sorry I didn't tell you right away, I didn't want you to worry and you were still in class and I didn't want to distract you and- and I’m sorry. I’m okay. I promise. It’s not like I haven't had a broken arm before, right?” Wirt’s smile was a little strained, but his eyes shone with the relief and disbelief that he was truly standing in front of his boyfriend after weeks apart. Wirt wrapped his good arm around him and pulled him in as close as he could. 

“Yeah, but if you could do me a huge favor and stop getting broken arms, I'd appreciate it.” Dipper threaded his fingers through his hair, mussing the strands. “I've missed you, pilgrim.”

Wirt sighed in contentment, lowering his head to rest it on Dipper’s shoulder as he hid his smile against it. “Missed you more,” he teased.

“Lies. But you did get on a plane without a cast like a crazy person, so you've got a pretty good argument.” Dipper pressed a kiss to his hair, relaxing now that he was in his arms. “You really need one, by the way. I called your mom in a small panic, but you were already on the plane, so I just got all the details from her. I could've come to you, y’know.”

“I know, but… we’d planned this whole thing and I just… I wanted to come to you.” Wirt managed a half shrug, calmer and at ease with his boyfriend close enough to touch. “A broken arm’s not gonna stop me. But it does really hurt, so I’m not going to object to a cast now, oh heck no.”

“Mom's got some ibuprofen in the car. Come on, pilgrim. Let's get you patched up and home.” Dipper grinned, easing back to rub their noses together. “I'm missing practice thanks to you.”

Wirt’s scrunched as he let Dipper nuzzle to his heart’s content, soaking up the attention as his heart quivered. He’d missed this. “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have practice this late anyway. And before a long weekend, too.”

“Don't forget you've gone back in time. It's not _that_ late.” Though he'd technically missed practice entirely, he was still more than prepared to play the game that Saturday. “Practice is every Thursday, rain or shine, long weekend or not.”

“And it goes until after seven at night? It gets dark, how are you supposed to see?” Wirt shook his head, but was more than happy to fall into step with Dipper. After he got a semi-hug from Mabel, of course, and let Greg barrel into his second older brother.

“We only go after seven if there's a huge game ahead or at the beginning of the season. And there are lights on the field. We have a couple night games later in the season, but this weekend the game's at ten.” Dipper wanted to wrap an arm around his waist, but was wary of the bruising on his side. He didn’t know how bad that was, so ended up tucking his hand in Wirt’s back pocket with a teasing grin. “Think you'll be able to handle waking up early to sit in the bleachers?”

Wirt started, an electrified current shooting up his spine and into the back of his head as the sensation of being touched - prolonged touching - somewhere he wasn't normally lingered in his awareness longer than familiar touches did. After that moment’s hesitation, Wirt relaxed into it. He was still extremely conscious of it, after all Dipper’s hand was basically on his posterior and staying there, snug in his pocket. “Um…” It was going to take another minute to get his brain working again. “I- yeah. Um. What… uh- what was the question?”

Dipper laughed, devious enough to leave his hand right where it was. “Never mind. Just you're cute and I love you.”

Cheeks reddening, they puffed up some as Wirt pouted and struggled not to squirm against his hand. “No, seriously, what did you say?”

“I've got a ten o’clock game Saturday. It's away, so we'll be out by eight. Are you willing to wake up that early just to sit on bleachers?”

Wirt pursed his lips. “Depends. Are you willing to not be a brat the rest of the night?” he countered, then gestured with his good arm. “Stop with that... smug, evil, whatever look you’ve got going on on your face.”

He gasped in mock offense. “Smug and evil? I don't know what you're talking about, man. I'm just looking at my very pretty, really flustered boyfriend. There’s nothing smug or evil here.” Though his lips twitched in amusement, and he was very tempted to see what would happen if he were to give a harmless little squeeze.

“Oh- oh yeah? What about your hand there?” Wirt pressed his lips together tightly, heart hammering and face even hotter now that he'd drawn attention to it. “That, combined with your face, doesn't- doesn't make you appear all that innocent.”

“Well, I only put my hand there because I didn't want to squeeze your side and hurt you by accident.” Dipper stuck his tongue out. “So it's your cute, dumb fault that my face is like this since you reacted to it.”

Wirt blinked at him, some of the stiffness receding and reminded him a little of the fact that he’d been hit by a car earlier, but the sweetness behind the… foreign gesture relaxed him a little. “Yeah, well, can you blame me? I mean, how would you react if I suddenly put my hand on your- your um…”

“Butt!” Greg giggled, glancing over at the two of them and only just catching onto their conversation - mostly by visual alone. 

“Thank you, Greg.” And the embarrassment was back.

“Hey, after the day you put me through, I get to say whatever I want and I’m gonna say Dipper’s got his hand on your butt,” the younger brother pointed out, completely rational in his decision. “‘Cause he does.”

Mabel giggled. “He's only stating facts.”

“Yeah, well, I'm allowed to have my hand here. It's boyfriend privilege.” Dipper’s cheeks pinkened, but he didn't take his hand out of Wirt’s pocket until they were at baggage claim to get their suitcases. 

Wirt automatically reached for his suitcase as it came around, out of habit, but nearly swatted Greg in the head when the youngest member of their crew darted in front of him. He wasn’t an invalid just because he had a broken arm, he mentally huffed, but allowed Greg to grab the suitcase and drag it out of the carousel since he seemed so determined to help out. It ended with Greg toppling over onto his back like a turtle thanks to his backpack, but he was laughing about it so it was worth it apparently.

“You can… um…” Wirt hummed as he stayed close to Dipper and watched Greg and Mabel try to spy Greg’s suitcase next. “Well, my side doesn’t- I mean not that you can’t- you can put your arm around my waist or you can put it in my pocket, you know, either is- is fine. With me. In case you were wondering. Not that you are, but just if you were. For the future.”

He grinned, carefully bumping their hips together. “Good to know. I'm gonna save your suitcase from Greg, so using your pocket again will have to wait. At least until we get to the hospital, and mom said that was first.”

Wirt’s flush faded as he blanched. “W-well, I don’t know that I’m as fine with it if it’s in front of your mom,” he amended.

“Too late. Permission was granted.” Dipper pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling Greg’s suitcase off the belt when it came around. “Here, shortstop. Trade you for Wirt’s.”

“Yes sir, admiral!” Greg handed it over easily. “I can only do so much.”

Wirt shook his head, lips quirking up as he tried to push aside his concern that Dipper wasn’t just teasing him, though it didn’t really work. He fiddled with his sling, wincing when a sharp pain shot through the constant throbbing. It didn’t matter how much it hurt though, it was completely worth it. Well, he could’ve done without the getting hit by a car bit, but what he meant was that it was worth it to have gotten on the plane despite having a broken arm.

“Don’t fuss with the sling, oh my gosh. You're as bad as Dipper.” Mabel kissed his cheek in lieu of one of her normal, tight hugs. “Mom called in your prescription when Amy told us what it was, so you'll have meds and a cast and be good as new in no time.”

Wirt’s sheepish smile eased up some as he leaned into her with his good shoulder between them. “Thanks, Mabel. I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too!” She looped her arm around his, claiming him while she had a chance. “We were so surprised when mom told us you were coming!”

“Well, that was the plan,” Wirt sighed. “It was supposed to be like you didn’t know until you left for the airport. Under the guise of errands or something. I was expecting a lot of whining texts from Dipper and then more whining when I didn’t answer his whining.”

She giggled, tugging him along when Greg and Dipper went ahead, both checking to be sure Wirt was in good hands first. “You'll have to try it again next time because there would have been a _lot_ of whining.”

“Not sure when we’ll get the opportunity for a next time, but I promise I’ll try,” he agreed, smile weakening as Dipper and Greg’s reactions didn’t escape him. Wirt lowered his voice some when he spoke next. “So, how exactly did your mom break the news to you?”

“She picked us up from school, which never happens, so we knew something was up. And Dipper was stressing himself out trying to figure that out. Then when we got home, he kind of basically demanded to know what was wrong. She said she had good news and bad news, and Dipper wanted the bad news first because he's Dipper. _Then_ we got told that you were coming anyway. His face was an emotional rainbow for about five minutes before he called Amy and demanded every detail.”

Wirt sighed. “Great. Mom was pretty upset about it still and mad at me for being so ‘stubborn and difficult’ so she probably didn’t lighten the blow at all. But I had been texting him, so he knew I was okay, right?”

“Yeah. She told us you were being your normal stubborn self and Greg was encouraging you.” Mabel grinned. “You have such a rebellious soul, Wirt.”

He rolled his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a real punk,” he replied dryly, but looked to his younger brother, the boy babbling away at Dipper about something. “Greg only encouraged me because he’d already yelled at me in the ambulance. It really shook him up, and I’m not surprised. Of course he had every right to be upset and scared. He just… he hid it from mom and I’m not really sure why.”

“Because he's a brave kid who loves you and wants to make sure you're happy.” Mabel shrugged. “That's my guess, anyway, and I'm very wise. It's part of being perfect.”

“You are pretty perfect,” Wirt agreed, shoulders relaxing as much as they could without hurting too much. “Thanks for putting up with the rest of us mediocre folks.”

“Well, I love you, flaws and all.” She paused once outside, searching for their mom’s SUV. “Just... don't scare us like that again, okay? Look both ways before crossing the street.”

“But they ran a red light.” Wirt couldn’t help protesting, but bit back any further complaints about how it wasn’t his fault and sighed. “I will. I’m sorry.”

“I can't make them promise not to run red lights,” she pointed out, bobbing up to kiss his cheek. “So thanks.”

Laura pulled up, Dipper wasting no time in opening the trunk to get the suitcases inside. The sooner they got to the hospital, the better. His mother exited the car, heading straight for Wirt. “Hello, boys. How are you feeling, Wirt? Is there constant pain or does it come and go?”

“Hi, Mrs. Pines. It’s- um… it’s pretty constant, but then it sometimes spikes?” he replied nervously, uncertain whenever put on the spot. “But I’m okay. Just need some more painkillers, I think.”

“Alright.” He didn’t seem to be in shock, eyes clear if nervous. “We picked up your medication already, and there's water in the car. You should sit with your left side by the door to avoid any accidental bumps, and be sure to let me know if you feel dizzy or strange in any way.”

“O-okay.” Wirt nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Pines. And I’m… I’m sorry about all this.”

“Hi, Mrs. Pines! Happy President’s Day!” Greg chirped as he bounded over to them, backpack and suitcase tucked in the back.

“Hi, Greg. How are you?”

“Right as rain! No cars hit me today.” He cast a sidelong look at Wirt and smiled innocently when Wirt pursed his lips.

“That's very good.” Used to similar shenanigans from the twins, Laura opened the backseat door and waved a hand. “Come on, kids.”

“Greg and I can sit in the third row,” Mabel offered, swinging Greg up into a hug. “Maybe don't remind Dipper that Wirt was hit by a car, okay?” she whispered.

Greg raised an eyebrow. “You mean he forgot already?”

“No, she means don’t rub it in,” Wirt clarified.

“Ohh.” Greg nodded. “Because it’ll make him feel bad. Okay. My lips are sealed.”

Dipper huffed. It was fine. He'd obviously been hurt or they wouldn't be going to the hospital at all. “Can we just, like, get in the car so we can go?”

“Uh oh.” Greg shrunk down to whisper to Mabel. “Dipper remembered.”

Except he wasn’t whispering quietly enough. “Greg, shh,” Wirt hushed.

“You shh.”

“Oh my god.”

Mabel giggled, bundling Greg into the back. “Let's get going, baby. It'll be okay soon.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. You can slide across.”

It was a bit of a struggle to keep from jostling his arm too much as he slid, since Wirt wasn’t exactly the smoothest person in the world, but was altogether unscathed as he reached for the seat belt. He wanted to do this on his own and prevent Dipper from another reminder of why his arm was in a sling. He almost managed it successfully, but needed Dipper to hold the console in place for him to click the belt into.

“Thanks,” he squeaked out, voice cracking some.

“I don’t mind helping you out.” Dipper cupped his cheek, offering a smile. “It's okay. You’re okay.”

“Yeah.” Wirt cleared his throat, instinctively nuzzling his boyfriend’s hand. His heart skipped a couple beats when he leaned forward to brush their lips together. “I’m okay.”

Laura retrieved a bag with Wirt's prescription, passing it and a bottle of water back. “Just take one for now. The second after your cast and with some food. I'm sure you're hungry after such a long flight.”

“Thanks, mom.” Dipper shook a pill out after popping the childproof cap for his boyfriend. “Here, pilgrim.”

A light blush dusted his cheeks, but he thanked him and took the proffered pill and a swig of water to wash it down. The hopeful thought that getting the cast wouldn’t take too long so the next pill and food could come sooner rather than later took root in his mind, with the added perk of getting some much needed alone time with his boyfriend at some point. As the car pulled away from the curb, Wirt gingerly leaned over to lay his head on Dipper’s shoulder. 

He heard Greg explain to everyone about their eating schedule for the latter part of the day - which boiled down to Greg’s two snacks at the airport and Wirt’s zero snacks - then tuned out the rest as he listened to Dipper’s breathing and timed his own to match it. He nudged their thighs together, knees touching like they had on the train ride to Salem or even before that when they’d manned the ticket table together for the Mystery Shack’s party, only much more certain and comfortable with one another, though a few of the butterflies still remained.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, because it hadn’t been said enough so far and because it also meant ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I’m here’ wrapped up in it’s own little package.

“I love you too,” Dipper hummed, brushing a kiss to his hair. He, too, wanted to get his cast on and get home. He wanted to bundle him beneath the blankets, find out what had happened straight from the source so he could see Wirt’s face and figure out what he needed. But one step at a time. “My pretty poetic pilgrim. I'm glad you're here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” Wirt turned his head just enough to press his lips to Dipper’s jaw. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be right now.”

\----

It only took twenty minutes for the cast to be applied, but ten in the waiting room and fifteen to examine the break to make sure that it was still clean after all the moving around Wirt had been doing, and then another ten to fill out paperwork and pay. Practically an hour, but Wirt knew it had been a lot quicker having Laura there to speed up the process since she worked there and set things up ahead of time.

The pressure around his arm was a relief to have, the sturdiness of the cast insuring that no further harm would come to his arm just from moving around. Greg was the first to sign it, claiming that he had that right after having to be witness to the aftermath of the accident, then allowed Dipper and Mabel to fight for their turn. Wirt didn’t even mind sitting through the signings since the cast combined with the pain medication had him feeling much better already.

Mabel grinned over her drawing of a waffle, her name and a smiley face under it, while Dipper scrawled his name and an “I love you,” complete with a heart. “The real reason you came was because you couldn't imagine having a cast without our names on it,” she teased.

“You caught me.” Wirt rolled his eyes. “But far be it from me to break such a tradition.”

Dipper laughed, leaning forward to lightly kiss him. “Your limit is two casts, though, sorry. No more broken bones allowed.”

“I think I can live with that.” Wirt smiled against his lips.

“Can my limit be three?” Greg asked. “I’ve already had one and I climb a lot of trees and ride a lot of bikes, so I’ve gotta have my bases covered.”

“No, your limit is one.” Wirt ruffled his hair when Greg laughed. “No more casts for anyone.”

“Have you ever had a cast, Mabel?” Greg asked her, taking her hand as they headed back to the car.

“Oh, yeah. Way too many. Same with Dipper.”

“Absolutely.” Dipper laced his fingers with his boyfriend’s, keeping close to him. “So no more for any of us.”

The casts Wirt knew of came from the fall that allowed them to meet in the first place, and he hoped those were really the only major ones they’d ever have to endure. He squeezed Dipper’s hand, rubbing circles in with his thumb. “Sounds like a plan.”

The Pines house looked just as he remembered it, minus the Christmas decorations. It hadn’t been all that long since they’d last been there, but every week felt like a week too long, and Wirt knew they needed to take what they could get with the next upcoming stretch being the longest they’d gone yet as a couple. Mid-February to mid-June, four months. Unless they came across a stroke of good luck, the chances of finding another opportunity to meet up before summer seemed slim. So broken arm or no broken arm, Wirt was going to enjoy these four days to the fullest, and would absolutely be up at the crack of dawn to see his boyfriend in action in a baseball game.

The twins exchanged glances as they gathered suitcases and herded them and the brothers inside. With dinner having been eaten in the car, and Wirt's full dose of medicine taken, it was time to get them apart. Besides, with ten approaching, it was passed Greg's bedtime. “Come on, baby. Let’s pick out some PJs and get some sleep.”

“Okay, General Mabel.” Greg saluted her, then went to Wirt for a goodnight hug. “‘Night, Wirt. Hope you feel better.”

“Thanks, Greg.” Wirt stooped down and hugged him back with his good arm. “For everything today.”

“Any time, brother o’ mine. What are brothers for?” He gave his cheek a kiss, then wiggled out of the hug to go with Mabel. “Goodnight, Dipper! Sleep well!”

“What, I don’t get a hug?” Dipper crouched to tug him into one. “You did good today, corporal. Goodnight.”

Greg giggled as Dipper caught him, eagerly throwing his arms around him for a good hug. “Thanks, admiral. I leave him in your capable hands.” When Greg backed out of the embrace, he offered him a salute that transitioned into a wave.

Dipper returned the salute with a grin before rising and taking Wirt’s hand. “Come on, pilgrim. It's early for you, as far as crazy timezones go, but between medication and a crazy afternoon, I bet you're ready for bed.”

“You have no idea.” Wirt went willingly, following his boyfriend up the narrow stairs. “Part of me feels like I could sleep for a week, but the other part doesn’t want to miss a second of this weekend. It’s been too long.” He huffed, glaring at his cast. “Can’t believe I had to go and break my stupid arm.”

“You can't always predict the future, b- man.” Dipper shrugged. “And it wasn't your fault, right? Amy said some older teens ran a red light?”

“Yeah. I was crossing the street and I had the right of way, the red hand was still blinking, but I guess they thought they could make it through before I crossed or maybe they weren’t paying attention. I know the police interrogated them, but I was kinda out of it for that part. I don’t even really remember being questioned. It was all sort of a blur.” Wirt shook his head, looping his arm around Dipper’s waist as they reached the landing and headed for his room. “But I… I remember slipping. The street was icy, but I’m not exactly the most graceful person either. If I hadn’t slipped I might’ve gotten out of the way faster.”

“Wirt...” Dipper sighed, wary of leaning against him too much but needing to be close. “Here. Change into your pajamas. I'll change in the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Wirt let go of him so Dipper could gather his pajamas to take with him into the bathroom, a thought occurring to him that he’d been trying hard to ignore. “Do you think…? No, nevermind, it’s dumb.”

Dipper paused, looking back. “What?”

Wirt pursed his lips, flicking his gaze up at Dipper then down at his hands, the good and the bandaged. “You don't… think it could've been, like- I- I don't know.” He inhaled deeply and stopped hesitating to blurt out, “Do you think Bill could've possessed them to try and hit me? Is that- is that something he could do?”

Dipper set his things down, crossing to his boyfriend to cup his cheeks. “I don’t think it's outside the realm of possibility, but I also know Bill likes to bide his time and lick his wounds. Unless he showed himself in some way or you felt him, it was just an accident, pilgrim.”

Wirt exhaled shakily and nodded, put at ease to some degree by his boyfriend’s opinion. “Okay. Okay, yeah, that makes sense. Sorry, I… I know you don't like to talk about him. I was just… the protection keeps him from getting into our house and me and Greg, but you know what’s to stop him from getting into cars and driving them into people?” he laughed weakly. “That’s- yeah. No, you- what you said makes sense. That's not really Bill's style, is it?”

“It's really not.” Dipper brushed their lips together to soothe, so glad that he was there to share his fears instead of across the country stressing himself out with them. “If I thought it could be him, I'd tell you. But it's okay. Don’t let him invade every accident you have, though, or you'll never not think he's around.”

“Yeah, well I try not to make it a habit of winding up in life threatening situations, so the accident thing doesn't happen that often.” Wirt placed one hand against Dipper’s hip, tugging him close for a second longer before he had to let him go so they both could change. “I think it's really just because it’s the same arm broken in the same place. Feeling it just took me back there, I guess.”

“That makes sense.” Dipper kissed him again, lingering to soothe them both. “You're just that lucky, I guess.”

Wirt leaned back and lifted an eyebrow. “You and I have very different opinions on what constitutes as lucky.”

He laughed, stepping back to gather his clothes. “My sense of irony’s just well developed. I'll be right back, okay? You want me to grab you a drink or anything? I'm gonna go downstairs anyway for a bottle of water.”

“Um. Yeah, water would be good. Thanks.” Wirt watched him move about the room, content to just drink in the sight of him before opening his suitcase.

“Okay.” Dipper grinned, pausing at the door. “You brought your tape player, right? Amy said it was broken, but still.”

“Y-yeah.” Wirt’s cheeks turned red, tips of his ears burning as regret shone in his eyes. “I… I can’t get it open and your tape’s inside. I’m… it’s all bent in so I’m pretty sure it’s…” He hoped the tape wasn't broken, too, but the likelihood leaned towards broken. “I was listening to it while I was walking, I’m sorry.”

“It's okay. I’ve got some extra blanks around, so I can make you another one if it is. Get it out and I'll fiddle with it some.”

Wirt nodded, then crouched down to pop open his suitcase to find it and his pajamas. “Right. Okay. I’ll- yeah.” He wanted to tell him that he didn't have to, that he probably had more important things to be doing than fiddling with his tape player, but he knew it would be a pointless argument. And he did really want his tape back.

Dipper’s smile softened, gaze lingering on him for a moment longer. He knew the argument was there and was grateful that it went unsaid. He wanted to help him in whatever way he could while he and Greg were there. After closing the door behind him, Dipper went down the hall to the bathroom and changed quickly. It was early for him to be getting ready for bed, his lights usually on and various projects going long after his boyfriend’s last, semi-legible goodnight text came through, but sleep always came earlier and easier when Wirt was there to hold onto.

He did want to see what he could do about the tape player, though, so that would likely keep him up after his boyfriend’s breaths evened out and his fears soothed by dreams. Hopefully. Dipper wasn’t going to discount nightmares on the night Wirt had gotten hit by a _car_. Especially when it had triggered thoughts of Bill. He rubbed his thigh absently, frowning to himself as he made his way down the stairs. The tape player was still in a bag on the counter, a leftover from putting away groceries. He peeled the price sticker off the bottom before grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, deciding that technically a replacement was still a present and Wirt didn’t need to know how much he'd spent on them and the headphones just in case those had been broken as well. Besides, Dipper reasoned, you could never have too many headphones.

Tugging both boxes back in the bag, sans price tags, Dipper headed back up the stairs and nearly stepped on their cat’s tail. “Judge!” Ears twitching, the feline looked up at him as if bored by nearly getting his tail squashed. “Oh my god, why are you even out here? Go to bed.”

The cat meowed at him, rising only after Dipper had stepped over him, and followed him to his bedroom. “Fine, but only if Wirt's okay with it.” He knocked once on his door. “Hey, you good?”

The door opened after only a moment, Wirt stepping aside to let both Dipper and cat into the room. “Yeah, I’m good. Hi, Judge.” Wirt rubbed his arm above the cast as he watched the cat trot in. He was in the t-shirt he’d ended up with after that day at the pool in the summer, the short sleeves easier with his cast. His gaze wandered to the bag in Dipper’s hand. “What’s that?”

“That present I told you about. Well, very briefly mentioned at the airport.” He shrugged, setting the water bottles on his desk instead of chucking them onto the bed since Judge decided to leap up and settle on the edge. “I wasn’t really sure just how- Wait, I’ll ruin it. Just here. Half of it’s Mabel’s fault.”

“Mabel’s fault? Uh oh. I’m a little nervous now,” he teased, heart fluttering as he took the bag. “Oh. And, um, here’s my tape player. You don’t have to worry about it tonight. I mean, we do have the weekend.”

Dipper hummed, turning the broken thing over in his hands. His heart twisted at this fresh sign of the damage that had been done. He’d just been heading to get Greg as he did every day, listening to music - music Dipper had picked specifically to remind Wirt that he was loved and not alone despite the distance - and a couple of impatient teenagers had broken it and him in what had likely been only a few seconds. He bit his lip, tempering a strong flare of indignant fear with the silent reminder that his boyfriend was right in front of him. He was alive and okay and there. Actually there in his room.

Blowing out a steadying breath, he looked up with a small shrug. “I can probably get it open tonight relatively easily, but actually fixing it might take some time. I’ll have to mail it to you.”

Wirt searched his face carefully, eyebrows knitted in concern. “Don’t worry about it. I can always get a new one.” The tape was what he was more concerned about anyway. Wirt set the bag aside for a moment so he could cup Dipper’s cheek, thumb brushing softly over skin. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

“I know.” Dipper lifted a hand to cover Wirt’s, keeping it in place. “It just kind of keeps coming back. Normally, I can deal with you being so far away, y’know? I mean, we talk so much you may as well be here. But then... If it had been worse, I wouldn’t have known until someone thought to tell me. _You_ didn’t even tell me right away. So it’s just the what-if about it that bugs me more than anything else. Because you are here with me. I know that you’re okay and that your arm’s going to heal and those stitches’ll go away.” But just like the last cast, Dipper wouldn’t be there when it was taken away. Dipper wouldn’t be able to watch him heal. He’d leave Piedmont with a cast and he’d land in Oregon without one, and that was all Dipper would really be able to see.

He turned his head to press a kiss to the center of Wirt’s palm. He was worth the worry, and what he saw was worth missing the rest. “But it’s okay. I’m okay because you are, and I’m not letting that get in the way of the time we have together.”

Wirt stepped closer and brushed his lips against his temple. “I love you so much. If it had been any more serious I would've told you. I promise. I just… I wanted to be with you so you wouldn't have to worry- well, as much. But I’m sorry. The what-ifs would scare me, too. If it was you.”

“I know.” Dipper wrapped his arms around Wirt’s waist, keeping him close. “I’m glad you were stubborn enough to come here anyway. When mom said you’d been hurt, I could feel my stomach drop to my toes. Then she said you were on your way, and I didn’t know what to feel. Definitely the weirdest freaked out-slash-excited combo ever.”

“Yeah, Mabel said you asked for the bad news first. Don’t do that.” Wirt tugged on his hat playfully, nearly losing himself in his gaze - so close and real and loving beyond anything he could imagine - before kissing him with a little nip. “That stomach drop is what I was trying to prevent from happening.”

“Well, usually asking for bad news first makes the good news even better. What she should've said is ‘do you want the scary news or the less scary, exciting news?’ I may have chosen the latter.” He grinned easily, stepping back. “Now open the bag. Seriously.”

Wirt huffed, but complied. “Alright. I won’t deprive you any longer.” He left the bag on the bed so he could open it one-handed and pull out the contents. “Oh-” His breath caught as he realized what it was. “Oh, Dipper. You- oh my gosh. Thank you,” he choked out a laugh, smile golden as he looked from the new tape player and headphones to his boyfriend, then back to admire the gifts.

“How did I get so lucky? Wait- are these headphones made of tiny, plastic chocolate bars?” That said “love” instead of a meaningless brand name. His cheeks pinkened, but he adored them nonetheless, despite the fact that they didn’t really seem like something Dipper would pick out. “Is this where it becomes Mabel’s fault?”

“I picked them up because I was curious, and she made me get them. She was wise enough - or shrewd might be better word. But she pointed out that you're sweet and I love you. Both are very true, so I went with it.” Smile a little sheepish, he shrugged. “You like them?”

“Yeah.” Wirt pressed his lips together, his own smile shy in return. “Even before you put it like that. Boyfriend o’ mine, you’re just as sweet, you know that?” He leaned in, letting their noses brush before claiming a kiss from him.

Dipper lifted his hands to cup his cheeks, thumbs caressing gentle circles beneath his eyes as he sank into a deeper kiss. It had been too long since they’d had enough time alone to really linger.

Breath hitching, Wirt let himself be swept away in it. The tape player and adorable headphones were slowly set aside in favor of kissing Dipper stupid. His fingers curled and clung to Dipper’s shirt, cast tucked between them, the only unfortunate barrier. There was a tiny hint of melancholy in the kiss, more of an ‘I’ve missed you and I hate being apart’ that existed, hidden in the grooves of every interaction, but overall it was an overwhelming welcome home.

“I love you,” Dipper breathed as the kiss ended, lips still brushing against his. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Wirt claimed another lighter kiss, still dizzy from the first and maybe a little bit of that lightheadedness was because of the pain medication, but he was fairly confident it was mostly Dipper. He nudged their brows together and nuzzled gently, a tremor rising in his voice. “I was so scared when I saw the car, but I knew I couldn't let it... I needed to see you. I needed to be with you, I wasn't going to let anything stop that from happening. Certainly not a car running a red light while I was on my way to pick up my brother from school. I’m yours. Nothing’s going to take me from you if I can help it.”

“I know, Wirt. You're too stubborn for that.” Dipper threaded his fingers through Wirt’s hair. “I'm sorry you had to go through it alone, but you're here. You've got your cast, your medicine, and me. And everything's okay.”

Wirt wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he released a shaky sigh. “Yeah, it is. It’s all okay.” He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of Dipper’s body pressing against his, the way they fit. Together. With as good a squeeze he could give with how sore he was, he kissed his temple and pulled back. “So, um… want to try out the new tape player? I brought a tape we could use,” he told him, cheeks tinting towards pink. “It’s yours. I mean, it’s for you. I made it for you. Like yours just with- with different songs.”

Charmed, Dipper grinned. “Absolutely yes. The player works without headphones or I've got a splitter if you want.”

“We can just listen for now. I’ll try out my headphones later.” Wirt fetched the tape from his suitcase, a simple ribbon wrapped around it in a bow with the words “For Dipper” with a small heart written onto the white label of side A. He offered it to him as he turned to face him, so he could look at it before they popped it in. “I- I know you say you like anything when it comes to music, but if you don't like this that’s totally fine. I can make you a new one.” When he took it, Wirt went to retrieve the new tape player so he could open it. One-handed it posed a bit of a problem though, so he picked at the tape sealing the box.

Dipper untied the ribbon. “You're not allowed to make me a new one. I mean, you like the songs I put on yours and some of them are pretty... lame.” He shrugged, helping him get the box open. “Here, boyfriend. I've got batteries in my top, middle desk drawer if you want to grab them.”

“Okay. Double A, right?” Wirt smiled as he let his gaze rove over the familiar chaos of Dipper’s desk before opening the drawer. “And I don't know what you're talking about. None of the songs are lame.” He flicked him playfully as he handed him the batteries.

“They are, and you know it. You're just sweet enough for chocolate headphones and won't admit it.” Dipper popped the batteries in place, humming as he turned the device over to insert the tape. His heart fluttered and swelled in his chest, Dipper prepared to love or at least tolerate every song his boyfriend had picked for him. For them.

He tugged Wirt into bed, making sure his boyfriend was comfortable and secure against the wall before settling beside him. “How many songs are there?”

“Um…” Wirt fidgeted, resting closer to Dipper once he was on the bed with him. “Twenty-two. I had to go out and buy a tape with more space on it. I couldn’t narrow it down any more.”

“Oh my god, you’re so cute. That puts my sixteen to shame.” Dipper laughed, leaning close to kiss his cheek, and couldn’t resist hitting play.

“Stop insulting your tape. I love every minute of your sixteen.” Wirt nosed Dipper’s cheek until he turned his head so he could kiss his lips this time as the music started. “I just hope it’s somehow okay. I know you could make a copy, but… that tape’s really special to me.”

“I'll find out, pilgrim.” Dipper slipped out of bed to get a small toolkit from one of his desk and the broken tape player. He liked the sound of the first song, unfamiliar but upbeat. The chorus had him pausing, eyes rounding.

_Thread my way through a string of stars, to write your name in a new constellation, declare my love to all creation_.

Constellations and stars - it had a star theme. With a laugh, Dipper climbed back into bed to seal their lips together. “What is this? I have to restart it.”

Wirt reached out to fiddle with the brim of his baseball cap. “‘New Constellation.’ It’s by- and don't laugh, but I got into them because Greg insisted that they had the best name ever. But it’s by Toad the Wet Sprocket.”

“Of course it is.” Dipper chuckled, rewinding to the beginning. “I've never heard of them, but I need this song.” He hit play, then found a small screwdriver within his toolkit to begin working on getting the broken player open. “I really love you.”

“I really love you, too.”

Wirt rolled onto his side, careful of his arm and shoulder, even though both were bruised. One from the impact of a car in motion and the other from where he landed on the street. It was his favorite way to sleep though, and he wanted to watch Dipper tinker with the tape player. His gaze drifted to his hat, not the familiar pine tree one, but his baseball team’s hat and it made his heart flutter.

“I’m excited to see you play. You know, at the away game,” he clarified unnecessarily. “Is it a school you've been to before?”

“Yeah. It's just Alameda High. It's, like, half an hour unless traffic’s awful. And it's a rule around here to assume that traffic’s going to be awful. So even though the game starts at ten, we'll leave here around eight to make sure we're there by nine. I'll meet up with the team, change there, and we'll go over the gameplan. Batting order and everything.” Dipper caught his tongue between his teeth, switching to the thin flathead. “Since we're away, we'll bat first so you'll have half an inning for Mabel to explain what's what before my team takes the field.”

“I read up a little on baseball,” he admitted, gaze flitting between his lips and his fingers. He shifted his leg so it was lightly touching Dipper’s.

“Seriously?” Dipper looked over at him, lips quirking. “Don’t tell Trevor. You'll never escape that conversation, and- hey! I knew you'd like Olly Murs.” He laughed as the next song started, this one he recognized. But it was a song for his tape, songs that made Wirt think of him. “You're seriously the best.”

Wirt’s lips quirked up, eyes all adoration as he watched him. Embarrassment over his song choices paled in comparison to the love he felt swelling for this boy as his delight shone with the discovery of each song, mind working to apply the meaning of the lyrics to their lives. “Well, I kinda have to be to be deserving of you,” he replied with amusement lacing his tone. “One best boyfriend deserves another.”

“Uh-huh. I think that's the medicine talking.” Dipper laughed, shaking his head. “Anyway, you know next time we're together, we're dancing to some of these songs.”

“No dancing now?” Wirt nudged him with his knee. “There are plenty of songs on your tape we could dance to. Or are you worried my broken arm will impede my ability to keep up with you?”

“I'm thinking more about the medication and knowing you're tired.” Dipper nudged him back. “Just let me baby you,” he teased.

“‘M not _that_ tired.” But he didn't mention how he was pretty sure he couldn't lift his head from the pillow now. “I’m never too tired for you. Except sometimes when we Skype late, but that's completely different. I’ll dance with you. Tomorrow.” He nodded, as if it would cement his certainty. “After you win baseball.”

Dipper hummed, deciding not to remind him that baseball was Saturday and it was only Thursday night. His tired, injured boyfriend could be teased the next day. “I'm all for it, pilgrim. And we'll definitely win. You didn’t fly over here to see me lose, after all.”

Wirt shook his head, eyelids steadily drooping and he had to fight to keep them open by blinking hard. “Mm. I flew over to see you no matter what. You could be… I dunno. Cleaning the garage all weekend or carving art into sweet potatoes. I’d still want to see you. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dipper set his tools and the tape player aside. It could be picked back up later if he found himself unable to sleep, but Wirt needed his rest. To get him to stop fighting the medication, Dipper turned the tape down and switched his lamp off before stretching out beside him. “Go to sleep, okay? I'll still be right here when you wake up.”

“No, I… I want to talk to you. It's been too long.” With the lights out, the heaviness of his limbs became more apparent. He nuzzled the pillow, trying to inch his way closer to Dipper without moving. “And it’s too early for you.”

“You won't make it to my bedtime, pilgrim. It's okay.” Dipper helped him, easing closer and nudging their noses together. “Close your eyes. We’ll have a better day tomorrow if you don't fight your medicine.”

“I can make it…” But his eyes were already closing despite the stubborn insistence. The security and care that Dipper provided easily replaced any anxiety he might’ve had without his tape as a crutch. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, but we've got each other now.” Dipper brushed his lips against his eyelids, encouraging them to lower. “Thanks for coming out here, Wirt. Love you.”

Wirt breathed deeply, lips quirking up in a sleepy smile. “Love you, too.” And with that, he gave into the exhaustion from the stresses of the day and the medication and fell into a pleasantly dreamless sleep, the presence of his boyfriend soothing even when consciousness was out of reach.

Dipper was content all of thirty minutes before he was carefully sitting up and switching the light back on to get back to work. He couldn’t resist plugging in a pair of headphones to the tape player to continue listening to the songs his boyfriend had specially selected, caught permanently between awed and amused throughout the first side. As the last song ended, the broken player popped open. With a quiet gasp, he withdrew the tape he'd made and turned it over in his hands to check for any real damage. There was a minute crack on one corner, the slightest of signs it had been involved in an accident at all. Dipper swapped the tapes with a hopeful smile, and pressed rewind then play.

_-be alone together, we can stay young-_

Dipper laughed softly, flipping it over to test the other side. He fast-forwarded, rewound, paused, and played - everything the tape needed to do to not be broken. It worked. Somehow the tape had made it through being trapped in a bent and broken player. He'd need to tape the corner to keep that from getting any worse, but that was a small thing and good news to share when morning came and his boyfriend slowly awakened.

Dipper looked down at him, lips curving slowly while his heart quivered in his chest. He was so cute. Even with stitches and a cast, Dipper felt attraction stir. He set the tape player aside, this time for the night, and once again switched off the lamp before stretching out beside him. He pressed as close as he dared to avoid jostling him and putting a pained crease in his smooth brow.

Very gently, he took his fingertips over his face in careful exploration. “I love you,” he whispered. “My pretty poetic pilgrim. We're gonna have a good weekend, I promise.” An arm draped over Wirt's waist, Dipper settled against him with a soft sigh and let his warm, comforting presence lull him to sleep.


	2. and Baseball

Dipper was normally a bundle of frenetic energy the morning of a game. Nerves and excitement would tangle. Away games were especially hectic on his system, the drive only giving him more time to psych himself out for the impending game. So far this season, his team had gone undefeated. Between having the highest collective batting average in their county and the best pitchers available, every game was theirs to lose. Alameda High had come close the last time they'd played them, only losing by one run.

But Dipper’s mind wasn’t totally on the game as they drove towards the coast. Instead, it was on the boy he had his arm around and on how many kisses he could steal between Wirt’s glances towards the front seat and the parents in them. Mabel and Greg had taken the second row, Waddles snug between them, his chin in Greg’s lap since the boy was without his frog, so Dipper knew neither parent could see them or were bothering to look.

Besides, how was he supposed to resist that sleepy pout? Being woken up at eight in the morning on a Saturday hadn’t been Wirt's idea of fun by any means. He was too cute and grumpy and adorably whiny to resist.

But it was hard to be too upset when there was a very attractive, very excited boyfriend sharing the backseat with him. The pout was more to keep Dipper kissing him rather than holding any actual upset. With only three full days and one already flown by, Wirt wanted to be awake for as much of this weekend as possible. Even if it meant waking up early.

Plus he had his mixtape in one piece, perfectly functioning despite it all, and he was so relieved the original had made it through. It had been a good, official start to their brief time together, and even better was the enthusiastic kissing that had followed the grand reveal. Enthusiastic kisses he was still eager to get, despite sitting in the backseat of the Pines’ family car with Pines parents just up front.

It just meant they had to be stealthy about it, though Dipper unfortunately wasn’t. “So, um, I’m gonna apologize now in advance, but I might not remember all the baseball rules I’d read up this early in the morning. My brain’s still trying to catch up, so I might need some reminders,” Wirt told him, ducking his head some as he leaned into his boyfriend. 

“Nine players per team. While one team plays defense on the field, the other is offense at bat. Hit the ball, touch all four bases, and that's a run. Whoever has the most at the end wins.” Dipper nuzzled him. “This team's a tough one, so it should be a good game.”

“Yeah? You nervous?” Wirt laid his hand on Dipper’s thigh, hesitating a moment before shyly kneading it.

“Not really.” Adoring him, Dipper captured his lips again. “I like the challenge, and I'd rather you see a good game over a shutout. Those are barely fun to play, let alone watch.”

“But…” Wirt’s nose scrunched as his brow furrowed. “Aren’t those supposed to be impressive? That’s when you pitch and… something good happens.”

He laughed. “A perfect game? That's different from a shutout, pilgrim. A shutout means they don't score. Perfect game means I don't let them hit a single ball unless it's a foul or an out. I haven't managed to pitch one yet, but I've come close.”

“Yeah, well, shutout or perfect game, they both still involve you pitching well. I mean, if you weren’t pitching well, then they’d probably score, right? Unless everyone on their team is bad at batting.” At least Wirt was pretty sure that was how it worked.

“Depends where they hit the ball and how quick it's fielded.” Dipper nibbled his lower lip, as amused by his lack of knowledge as he was warmed by his willingness to learn and watch him play. “You'll see.”

Wirt hummed, kissing back with light nips of his own. “Maybe. If I’m not too busy watching you.”

“Always follow the ball,” he advised, tongue teasing Wirt’s lip. “You should let me give you a hickey for good luck.”

“That so? Is that the trick to winning baseball games?” Wirt huffed out a laugh, all attempts to clamp his lips shut against Dipper’s tongue failing in favor of letting them part to allow him access. Until he remembered his boyfriend’s parents were in the front seat and tried to shut them again.

“Mm. Maybe. Athletes are very superstitious, pilgrim.” Undeterred, Dipper kissed his way down the column of Wirt’s neck, teeth nipping. 

He squirmed, muffling more giggles at the light way he grazed his skin. “Fine, but you have to promise not to make it very visible.” 

Dipper hummed, kissing his way to the curve where neck met shoulder. Not very visible meant a little visible was okay, obviously. “My pretty pilgrim,” he murmured, tongue laving the selected spot before teeth could really begin leaving the claiming mark.

Wirt’s eyes closed gently, fingers of his good hand curling in Dipper’s shirt as his head tipped a little, exposing more of his neck to his boyfriend’s eager, determined mouth. “My… superstitious athlete,” he breathed, lips quirking up. “Is it doubly lucky to give a hickey and get one in return?”

“Mm-mm-mm.” Satisfied with the forming bruise, Dipper kissed his way back up to his lips. This was so much better than texting him pre-game jitters and getting heart emotes and good luck wishes in return. “I think it's absolutely doubly lucky.”

Wirt made a soft, nearly silent noise as he sank into the kiss, head tingling pleasantly from the attention. He lapped his way into Dipper’s mouth to explore with the lazy morning kisses they’d been deprived of so they could get out of the house in time. He took his time giving Dipper his turn to be thoroughly loved on, easing out of the kiss slowly to drag his lips over the corner of Dipper’s mouth and down. Fluttering, feather-light kisses peppered his neck until he reached the collar of his shirt and there his teeth grazed just enough to make him shiver.

“Mm.” Dipper’s fingers curled and uncurled in his sweater, eager for the attention. His mind was a thick fog, thoughts heavy with only Wirt. The way he tasted, the way he felt pressed so snugly against him. “Wirt,” he sighed.

With an answering hum, Wirt nibbled and sucked at his skin, thoroughly working his own mark on him. He’d have to change with the team and surely someone would notice it, making him hesitant and a little embarrassed, but also quietly thrilled that people who had no idea of his existence would know Dipper belonged to someone just the same. He had someone who loved him and the mark was proof.

“I love you.” His lips pressed the words into his neck just before he bit down in the way Dipper always demanded, then lifted his head with a pleased smile.

Dipper mumbled something in response, too busy sinking into another kiss to worry about coherency. He lapped his way into Wirt’s mouth, neck stinging pleasantly. He loved the claim, the sign of ownership. He wanted to be Wirt’s and was more than happy to let everyone and anyone know. This adorable, sweet guy wanted him, and it was incredible.

“Oh no, our plan might’ve backfired,” Wirt chuckled, rubbing their noses together when the kiss broke. “I’m not sure you’re coherent enough to pitch now.”

“Mm-mm. I don’t need to talk to throw.” Dipper nipped his lower lip teasingly. “I'm really glad you're here.”

“I’m really glad I’m here, too.” Wirt licked his lips, savoring Dipper’s taste and the tingling sensations spiralling through him. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Not even asleep in bed?” he teased.

Wirt scoffed and gave him a light shove with his good arm. “Of course not. I can be asleep in bed whenever. I can’t always be with you.”

Laughing, Dipper nuzzled his neck and pressed a warm kiss to the hickey he'd left. “I love you. You’re always with me in a different way, but I definitely like you in person.”

“So do I.” Wirt tried to roll his eyes, but was happily overcome by delight in his boyfriend. “But I am glad we’ve been… okay at making this long distance thing work.”

“So am I. Some days are harder than others, but, y’know, everything's like that.” He shrugged. “You're worth the wait.”

Wirt’s gaze found Dipper’s, and for a second the glimmer in his eyes revealed that he couldn’t quite believe that, but it was gone in a flash and his smile was curved with understanding. “You are, too. Every day.” He captured Dipper’s wrist and lifted his hand to his lips.

It hurt a little, the small ache in his heart all for the little boy who'd been made to feel worthless. He replaced his hand with his lips, fingers sliding to cup his cheek as the car slowed to turn into the school's parking lot. “I'm pitching this game for you, pilgrim. So it should be a good one.”

Wirt grinned. “Alright, I think I can trust you on that.”

Once they found a spot and put it in park, Greg was hopping out of the back eagerly. “Oh boy, a real baseball game! I’m so excited!”

“You’ve seen baseball games before,” Wirt reminded him. “I mean, you’ve actually played in them, too.”

“Yeah, but not a high school baseball game.” Greg placed his hands on his hips, chest puffed out as if this were a new accomplishment in his short life.

“It's a very different experience,” Mabel agreed with a laugh.

Dipper hauled a duffel bag out of the trunk, slinging it over his shoulder. “It should be fun at least. This team's challenging.”

“I bet you’ll strike ‘em out at least ten times,” Greg told him, miming swinging a bat. “Maybe even twenty times!”

“I'll do my best, shortstop.” Dipper ruffled his hair, the excitement creeping in as he looked towards the field. There weren’t many things he was confident in outside of Gravity Falls, but baseball was one of them. Not his batting, his average dragging his team’s down, but definitely his pitching. And now his boyfriend and honorary little brother were going to be able to watch him. He was more than ready to hit the mound and get the game started.

His twin bounced as they walked, following the Pines parents to the stands. “Oh my gosh, it's gonna be great. We can get peanuts and cracker jacks from the concession stands. Dipper, you have to actually hit the ball at least once and get on base so you can steal second.”

He huffed. “I could hit a double and steal third.”

“Only in your dreams, bro-bro.”

“I don’t know. I bet he could if he timed it right,” Wirt piped in. He knew stealing was more about how fast you were, and his boyfriend was plenty fast and cunning when he wanted to be.

“Can he steal second and third in the same inning?” Greg asked, already sold on the idea of cracker jacks, glancing around the field for the snack booth.

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, I've done it before.” Dipper shrugged, taking his boyfriend’s hand and lacing their fingers. He couldn’t hit well, but he could circle those bases. “It just depends on how quick the other team’s pitcher is and how much the infield pays attention to me.”

“You should do it!” Greg reached for Mabel’s hand, letting their arms swing together once they were linked.

Wirt’s lips quirked up at his brother’s enthusiasm and he squeezed Dipper’s hand. He had the utmost faith in him stealing the bases as well, though knew that evading the other infielder’s attention would be tricky. After all, Wirt knew just how much he’d be paying attention to his boyfriend’s every move on the field, he could only imagine how much people actually playing against him would.

As they arrived at the stands, Wirt paused before climbing after Greg and Mabel to face Dipper. “Do you have to go get ready now?”

“I should, yeah.” He tugged off his normal cap and settled it onto Wirt's hair. His school's was in the duffel. “We’ll come out after everyone's pretty much ready to stretch and do some warm-ups. I've got to get some pitches in. So I'll come over and say hi.”

A light blush stole across Wirt’s cheeks as he secured the cap on his head. “Okay. I’ll be here. Um…” He kissed him quickly, a little peck. “Since you’re coming back I’ll, uh… give you a better good luck kiss then. That’s just a taste. Yeah.”

Dipper laughed, about to pull him closer for a much better taste when his name was called. And then his world seemed to stop because oh, god, why hadn't he seen this coming? It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

The third baseman jogged up, clapping a hand onto Dipper’s shoulder. “Yo, Dip. Traffic hold you up?”

Oh, god. This was seriously happening. He looked up, the senior a full head taller than him, smile a little weak. “Yeah. I mean, y’know. Traffic. Hi, Brad.”

“Hey. What was up Thursday? You never miss practice.”

“Uh. I was, uh- Airport.” Mind fried, Dipper gestured at Wirt. “Boyfriend. Picking up- I was... I was picking my boyfriend up at the airport. This is my boyfriend. Wirt. Yeah.”

Wirt blinked, glancing at Dipper blankly for a beat before clearing his throat and offering a small wave to the older boy. “Hi.” 

He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to greet one of Dipper’s fellow teammates, especially since over winter break he’d been so upset over not be included by them whenever they hung out outside of practice. But why would that have him freaking out like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar and stumbling over his words? 

“It’s um… nice to meet you,” Wirt continued. “Looking forward to the game.”

“Yeah, that's cool.” Brad sized him up, and some annoyance went through the haze of freakout Dipper was dealing with when his hand tightened on his shoulder. They'd broken up. More specifically, he'd dumped Bradley Sicklemore for being a little bit of a jerk and simply because he hadn’t been able to make himself trust him. There wasn’t a reason for him to let his ex fluster him. Just maybe he'd try to avoid pointing out the ex-boyfriend status to his confused and current boyfriend.

Shrugging the grip away, Dipper switched his duffel to discourage any further grabbing. “I need to go get ready.” He cupped Wirt’s cheek, bobbing up for a sound kiss that had Brad frowning at them. “I love you, pilgrim. See you soon, okay?”

“Um- I- okay?” Wirt searched his gaze, his own questioning and a little uncertain with the vibe Brad gave off creeping over his skin and making him itchy. What had he done to set this guy off? How did he offend him just by existing? “Yeah, see you soon.”

Dipper rubbed their noses together. “I'll... I'll tell you later,” he murmured. When he could figure out how. “See you.” He stepped back with a small shrug, side stepping Brad, who quietly scanned Wirt again before following.

He held his tongue only until they neared their dugout and the locker room tucked behind it. “Did you seriously just say you love that skinny guy?”

“Yeah.” Dipper huffed, quickly fishing out the Piedmont High ballcap as Wirt’s comforting presence was replaced.

“Holy crap. Why?”

For a million little reasons and a million more big ones. “Give it a rest, man. We've got a game.”

Back at the stands, Wirt rubbed at his cast worriedly and winced when he jostled it wrong. But Dipper said they’d talk about it later, so they would. There couldn’t have been anything he’d said or did in the five seconds it took for that Brad guy to size him up, so maybe he was making most of it up in his head? He did that sometimes. Except Dipper’s reaction led him to believe otherwise. As he settled down beside Mabel, Wirt tried to push it out of his mind for the time being since stressing about it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

Mabel grinned at him, nudging him carefully. “Oh my gosh, isn't Brad weird? I was so glad when Dipper dumped him. And you took meeting Dipdop’s ex way better than he did, the dork.”

It was as if all ambient noise was suddenly silenced. Wirt turned to face her, all color draining out of his face as his heart stuttered. “That… that was his _ex_?” The boy that Dipper had learned how to make out from and leave hickies and he was tall and full of muscles and probably attractive- “Oh…” he exhaled shakily, voice cracking. “Oh, okay. That explains a lot.”

So did that. “Oh, sweetie, I thought you knew! Oh my gosh.” Mabel struggled to look sympathetic, but giggles won out. “Don't worry. He's happier with you, I promise.”

“No, yeah, I’m sure. Just, um… didn’t ever expect to actually run into the guy, you know?” Wirt raked the fingers of his good hand through his hair, only to remember the hat was there and bumped the bill. He tugged it down over his eyes, a little mortified that he’d greeted an ex-boyfriend so casually, even more so by Mabel’s laughter. “It’s- it’s really not that funny.”

“It kind of is. He looked so mad when Dipper kissed you,” Greg laughed. “But he doesn’t got anything on you, Wirt!”

No, the problem was he very much did, at least appearance-wise. And probably kissing-wise, too, if he was really where Dipper learned it all from. And he’d just waved and said hi to the guy and probably looked like a total insensitive jerk or a huge dork.

“I guess Dipper forgot you'd probably see him today too, since he obviously didn't tell you.” Mabel leaned over to kiss his red cheek, amused by him and exasperated by her twin. “But, really, Greg’s right. Brad’s weird and you're sweet. You win.”

Wirt glanced up at her from under the brim of the pine tree cap. “You really think he’s weird? You’re not just saying that because I’m all…” He made a vague, wishy-washy gesture with his hand.

“As much as I don’t want you to be all-” She mimicked the gesture, smile bright. “I mean it. He wasn’t good for him like you are.”

Wirt couldn’t help the way curiosity blossomed in his chest, but he refrained from asking anything more. He figured it would be better to talk to Dipper about it when he came back. Just hearing that from Mabel was enough to soothe him for the moment anyway, easing the nerves and embarrassment that had swelled. 

“Of course not,” Greg scoffed. “Nobody could be as good. They’re waffles and waffles stick together.”

“Exactly. Especially these two waffles.” Mabel beamed, relaxing on the bench as they waited for the teams to appear.

It wasn’t a long wait, scattered players from either team filtering out of their respective dugouts as they drew closer to ten. They'd taken their seats on the third base side for Wirt and Greg to get the best view of Dipper’s pitching, so only had a view of the home team’s dugout.

Dipper was among the last to appear, chatting with their main catcher. They took a spot near the fence, out of the way of stretching teammates. The catcher crouched and Dipper sought his family, particularly his boyfriend, in the stands and gave them a wave before taking his stance and letting the ball go. The pitch sailed into the catcher's glove, the arc smooth and in the strike zone. That wasn't the surprise, of course, Wirt and Greg both having seen him pitch on a field in Lakeville with their friends. It was the uniform itself.

Prone to more loose-fitting clothes, baggy jeans and t-shirts were the norm for Dipper. But on the field, he didn’t want the excess fabric in the way of his pitching or his running when he managed to get on base. His black jersey bore the number eleven and the name Pines on the back and was tucked into fitted white pants with two purple stripes trailing up the side seams. The purple ballcap with the simple white P was tugged low over his eyes, shadowing his face as he let another warmup pitch fly with all the smoothness and grace he tended to employ when playing.

And if Wirt hadn’t been in love with him already, then his heart was certainly singing now. 

Of course he’d already thought Dipper was attractive, because he was. Able to go from being completely adorable to casually hot - hot without even really trying - he was overall a good-looking guy as far as Wirt was concerned. But this was completely different than all of that. The second he realized his eyes had shamelessly followed the lines and curves of his boyfriend’s frame, Wirt’s stomach warmed and his heart fluttered and embarrassment chased attraction’s tail until he had to look away.

It only made his humiliation run hotter when the little thought picked at his brain, wishing that he didn’t have a cast so he could run both hands freely along Dipper’s torso and-

Nope. Just because his boyfriend was into touching his butt now didn’t mean he was going to stoop to the same level. Not that it was a bad thing, but there were people. There were people all around them and parents and Greg and Mabel and an ex-boyfriend who unfortunately looked even taller and more intimidating in his baseball uniform, so no. No touching his boyfriend in his baseball uniform at all. Just watching and enjoying the view- except not too much. He didn’t want to look like a creep. Oh no, he probably already looked like a creep.

Maybe Dipper would wear the baseball uniform home… Wirt huffed and glowered internally at himself. This was ridiculous. When did he become so shallow to get hooked on appearances like this? Sure it was his boyfriend, but still.

Dipper ran through his array of pitch types until the catcher held up a hand and rose. “That's about all I can take til game, dude.”

He grinned, removing his glove. “That's fine. I'm ready.” He waved at him, then made his way towards the fence, gaze seeking his boyfriend. Brad had peppered him with questions enough for Dipper to have hidden in the bathroom stall to change and avoidance was still high on his wish list as far as he was concerned, but his ex was very, very different from his very, very cute current boyfriend.

“Hey, Wirt! Your boyfriend’s coming over to say hi!” Greg chirped, noticing him first since the older brother was still attempting to calm himself, and waved to the pitcher. “Hi, Dipper!”

“What?” He lifted his head, gaze immediately honing in on Dipper. “O-oh. Um. Ex- excuse me.” Wirt stood to make his way back down, taking each step extra carefully since the butterflies in his stomach made his knees a little wobbly.

“Hi, Greg!” Dipper waved back, gaze going to his boyfriend as he drew nearer. Concern creased his brow, his hat pushed back. “You okay?”

“Yeah-” Wirt’s voice squeaked so he cleared his throat and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, fine. Great. Um.” His gaze lifted, trying not to linger on the white pants that fit his legs so nicely. “You, uh… You’re looking good. Out there. You know, pitching.”

“Yeah?” Dipper reached out, tugging him close and leaving his arms around his waist. “The uniform doesn't look dumb or anything?”

Wirt had to fight back a shiver and his heart was hammering so loudly it was a marvel Dipper couldn’t hear or feel it. “N-no. It looks… good. Purple and white are nice colors on you,” he told him, managing to admit at least a little of what he liked. “You look good.”

Dipper brushed their lips together on a hum. “Are you sure you're okay? Like, do you-?” He shrugged, dropping his gaze to Wirt’s collar. “Was it the Brad thing, or...? I mean, Mabel says he's weird. But yeah.”

“Oh, well… yeah, I mean I just didn’t realize that was your ex-boyfriend I was stupidly waving at, but um… it’s fine. I didn’t expect to see him here today, I guess.” Wirt allowed himself to reach out, mostly to comfort, but indulging a little bit as he let his hand rest against Dipper’s waist. “Are you okay? When he showed up, you sounded like you do when your brain stops working,” he teased gently, smile softening as he tried to catch his eye under the bill of his hat.

“I'm fine. I wasn't really expecting him either. I mean, obviously he was going to be here since he's third base, but...” Dipper met his gaze with a small shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t think about him. So when he showed up, I was trying to figure out how I was supposed to introduce him to you.”

Wirt nodded, petting his side to further soothe. “I get that. It’s okay.” He leaned in to let their noses brush just before kissing him softly. “And we don’t have to talk about it now. You’ve got a game to get psyched up for and I don’t want you worrying about any of this, okay? I’m fine, really. He’s certainly taller than I expected, but the point is you’re with me and not him for a reason, so I’m… I’m okay. I promise.”

“Okay. I am definitely with you and not him.” Dipper grinned, nibbling his lower lip teasingly. “You’re all mine.”

“And you’re mine.” And Wirt’s hand was dangerously close to a place he was not about to touch in public, so he hurriedly draped his good arm around Dipper’s shoulder instead and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dipper rubbed their noses together, lips curving. “I'm still pitching this game for you, pilgrim, so it'll be a good one.”

“It was going to be a good one no matter what,” Wirt assured him. “But I can’t wait to see it. I’ll be cheering you on the whole time.”

“I’d hope so, boyfriend. I probably won’t be able to come over here again until the seventh inning stretch and I really need to warm up some more, so... one more?”

Wirt hummed thoughtfully, lips twisting to the side to hide the smile threatening to pull at them. “I don’t know… how about two? Two’s better.” He shrugged, gently cupping the back of Dipper’s neck as he drew him in for the first.

Dipper sank into the first with a small giggle, giddy to have Wirt there and so simply happy to have him as his boyfriend at all. He was so much better in so many ways than the first had been, his sweetness and understanding topping the list. “I love you so much.”

“I love you just as much,” he laughed, delighted by Dipper’s joy in something so simple, but so them. Their second kiss was still filled with that light warmth, Wirt beaming as it broke on more laughter. Before taking his hand back, he paused to cup Dipper’s cheek, gaze soaking up his beautiful, bright face and committing it to memory, to savor every time Dipper would be about to start a baseball game when he was three thousand miles away. “Good luck, boyfriend o’ mine,” he told him, teasing grin threatening to break through as he added, “Slam dunk that ball.”

“Oh my god, you dork.” Dipper stole a last kiss before withdrawing. “See you soon.”

“Bye.” 

Wirt waved, lingering a moment longer as Dipper turned to jog back to the field. His smile brightened as he took in the number on the back of his jersey, then started to turn to head back up to his seat when his traitorous eyes failed him. His gaze dropped to his pants and the way they hugged his boyfriend’s thighs and- 

“Stupid,” Wirt muttered to himself as a bright blush flooded his cheeks, slapping his face with the palm of his hand. “Stop that.” He toyed with Dipper’s pine tree cap so it would shade some of the redness as he hurried over to Mabel and Greg and willed his skipping heart and warm stomach to calm themselves or he was going to be permanently flushed for the entire game.

“Ooh,” Mabel teased, poking his cheek. “Kissing the pitcher for good luck?”

“Yeah.” Wirt glanced at her, willing the blush away as he adjusted the cap. “Figured he deserved it.”

“What time is it? Is it almost time for the game to start?” Greg bounced in his seat, looking around the field at both teams. 

Wirt reached over behind Mabel to ruffle his hair. “Almost, Greg.”

“Ten minutes or so. The umpires and coaches are chatting on the mound, so that's a good sign.” Mabel beamed, the crowd buzzing with energy for the morning game. It filled her with just as much, her natural excitement heightened by the array of families and friends ready to cheer their team on. It was even better with the brothers with her, much more attentive and excited than either parent for the game. Michael's tendency to work on his tablet and Laura’s preference of reading a book during the game couldn’t possibly compare. “This is going to be so great. He's going to be great. Oh my gosh, guys!”

“Go, Dipper!” Greg cheered, caught up in Mabel’s enthusiasm, even if it was premature. “Mabel, can we sing all the baseball cheers?”

“Of course we can! One of the band kids plays an organ over the speaker system, so we'll have something to sing with.”

Greg beamed brightly, then leaned forward to catch Wirt’s eye. “Don’t worry, brother o’ mine, we’ll teach you the words and the rules to everything.”

“Thanks, Greg. I’ll do my best to follow along.” When Greg offered him a thumbs up, he gave him one in return. “And keep cheering nice and hard for Dipper, got it. I’m sure our admiral will appreciate it.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Greg saluted.

Dipper waved at them when the teams were called to their dugouts, and waited through the first five batters, no runs scoring that first half-inning. Knowing he'd be batting the next had him feeling a little jittery, but as he and his team took the field he let it melt away. He knew this line-up from the last time they'd played, and had studied their updated stats just the night before. He knew what he was doing here.

Taking a deep breath, he settled into position and sought his boyfriend in the stands. He lifted his chin in quick acknowledgement, lips curving as he sent his first pitch of the game straight down the middle for a clean strike one.

Wirt’s breath caught. His heart leapt right into his throat as he watched the catcher toss the ball back to his boyfriend with wide eyes. Dipper caught it effortlessly it seemed, and Wirt’s skin itched almost pleasantly as he watched his fingers play along the seams of the baseball. He’d seen Dipper pitch before, heck they'd even played baseball together over the summer, but this…

This was something else. This was Dipper in his element. Like in Gravity Falls or when he played pool. He had complete control over the situation and a plan to see things through, all while wearing a baseball uniform that had Wirt squirming when the fabric pulled to accentuate the muscles in his body - thighs, back, shoulder - before he released the pitch.

How did he end up with such an attractive boyfriend? How was Dipper that adorable, poetically beautiful, and swoon-worthy? And how did he have eyes only for Wirt, obvious when his gaze flicked over to the stands and Wirt just knew he was looking for him, to see if he’d been watching. Oh, he was watching alright. He wanted nothing more than to be watching his boyfriend pitch. 

The first inning ended with the score still tied at zero, though Dipper only let three batters face him and none made it to base.

As the second inning began, he watched the batter ahead of him hit a clean double right between second and first base, reaching base before the throw to the second baseman could even be made. And then it was his turn. He bounced on the balls of his feet, glancing towards the stands as nerves prickled. The bat didn’t feel right in his hands, but he really didn't want to make an idiot out of himself. But he'd seen him bat before, so Wirt knew. And Wirt wouldn’t judge. Dipper knew that, just as he knew Greg would be all support and shift the blame to the sun in his eyes or something.

But even though his swings were uncertain, he knew how to bunt and when. If he angled it right, he could get to first and get his teammate into scoring position. With the meat of their lineup next, there was a strong chance for a run. He ran his tongue along his teeth, letting the first pitch sail by, high and outside. _Low_ , he thought, eyes on the pitcher's hands to see how he gripped the ball, _throw it low._

The second pitch came high and inside, Dipper jerking back to avoid getting hit, and the call of “strike!” nearly had him whirling in defiance. Instead, he held his tongue and settled back into position with a small wiggle to secure his stance and waited. The third was a clean strike, but too high for the bunt he wanted. 

It was the fourth pitch that gave him a chance. It came in the middle, low enough for him to drop the bat straight across the plate. It bounced hard enough to only roll halfway between the catcher and pitcher, surprising both into hesitating, each expecting the other to go for it. It was that hesitation that gave Dipper a chance to sprint across first base while his teammate slid into third. Both were called safe and Dipper grinned, seeking his boyfriend again. He wanted to make it to third, wanted to get closer to him.

“Woo!” Both Palmer-Whelan boys cheered, Greg taking the opportunity to whistle loudly. “Good job, Dipper! Bunt that ball in the face!”

“Wow,” Wirt huffed out a laugh, beaming at his boyfriend before turning to Mabel. “That was great.” He hadn't expected him to get on base during his first at-bat.

“I know! Oh my gosh, he's showing off so much.” She giggled, as proud of her twin as she was amused by him. “I wonder how soon before he's stealing second.”

“Showing off? He does know that he doesn't have to, right?” Wirt grinned, cheeks a soft, pleased pink nonetheless. His boyfriend was just too cute.

“Sweetie, you and Greg flew all the way out here just to surprise us and he loves you more than anything in the whole world.” Mabel nudged him playfully. “He absolutely has to show off.”

“Well, I… I love him more than anything, too. Regardless of whether he shows off or not.” Wirt nudged her back. “So he’s not hitting- what did you call it, Greg? A bundt?”

“ _Bunt_ ,” Greg corrected.

“Okay. Bunts. He’s not hitting bunts-”

“Bunting,” Greg giggled.

“Whatever.” Wirt rolled his eyes. “He’s not doing that every game?”

Mabel bit her lip, eyes shining with amusement. “He's better at bunting than batting, but it's not smart to do all the time. Usually, a bunt is a sacrifice. Like, you barely hit the ball so your teammate advances, but you get thrown out at first. Dipper's just fast enough that he normally doesn't end up getting out, and he only does it when there aren't any outs.”

“Oh. Got it.” The sound of the ball hitting the bat drew Wirt’s attention back to the game, but it was a foul. Though he was interested in Dipper’s team getting points - or runs - so they’d win, he couldn’t keep his eyes focused on the batter. Not when Dipper himself was much more interesting to look at.

“Is he gonna steal this time?” Greg asked.

“Maybe. Probably.” Mabel shrugged. “He might not make it to base again, so- oh! Yes! He's totally going to. His first base coach is nodding at him.”

Sure enough, Dipper was easing his way off the base. His attention was on the pitcher, the point of stealing second both to rattle him and to get closer to his boyfriend. It was the pitcher's job, as Mabel was explaining to the other two in the stands, to keep people from stealing. So, while his back was turned to begin setting up for the pitch, Dipper’s careful inching switched to a dead sprint. He could see the pitcher whirl out of the corner of his eye, so dropped for a slide into second to just miss the pick-off throw.

“Safe!” the umpire called, and Dipper rose laughing and patting his thighs to clear some of the dirt from his leg.

“Yeah!” Greg pumped both fists in the air while Wirt shook his head, laughing along with Dipper. “That’s how you do it, Dipper!”

He could just hear them, so lifted his hand in a wave before tuning back into the game. There was nowhere else for him to go and the runner on third was definitely not known for stealing bases, let alone home. Still, the pitcher’s agitation was clear in his body language and the glare he threw Dipper over his shoulder just before letting a pitch fly. The crack of the bat had Dipper laughing again, bolting for third while the runner ahead slid into home for the first run of the game. The batter was called out at first and a new one stepped up to the plate. Dipper looked over his shoulder, seeking his family, and waved at his boyfriend. “Love you,” he mouthed.

It felt like he was falling in love all over again, or at least reverted back to those first few days of clumsy attraction, as Wirt’s heart skipped and he waved back. “Love you too,” he told him, speaking the words aloud even if Dipper couldn’t hear them, then attempted to steady himself and look stern despite the playful quirk of his lips. “Pay attention.”

Dipper stuck his tongue out and grinned, but tuned back in as the next batter came up. He felt giddy, putting a little distance between himself and third base. To try and keep him in line, the pitcher threw the ball to the third baseman, Dipper managing to get back on the bag in plenty of time.

“Careful, Pines,” his coach advised. “He's watching you now.”

He laughed, giddiness rising as he shifted off third again. The pitcher was, sure, but it was Wirt’s eyes that mattered. “I know.”

Wirt released a shaky breath, hand pressed over his heart. That was risky, but apparently his boyfriend had no qualms with nearly getting caught. He watched him carefully, wishing he stayed a little bit closer to the base. And if his gaze lingered a little on the way the dirt from his slide painted one once pristine pant leg, well, then that was just coincidence. He was watching his legs to make sure he wouldn’t get caught and sent out. Yeah. Right.

“Dipper’s totally gonna get home,” Greg babbled excitedly, leaning forward in his seat. “Then they’ll have two runs and Dipper’ll be one of the ones who got it!”

“Shouldn’t he be careful because of his arm? Should he be sliding so much?” Wirt knew enough that it was important to keep the pitcher’s throwing arm in good condition.

“He's fine, worry Wirt.” Mabel giggled. “It's all part of the game. He's not the one with a broken arm.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who has to pitch in the next inning.” Wirt toyed with the edge of the cast, keeping that arm tucked in close.

Mabel slipped an arm around him, giving him a gentle squeeze. “He doesn't slide on the right, and he practices his slides just as much as he practices his pitches. He can take a tumble, Wirt.”

He sighed, leaning against her as he nodded. “Yeah, I know. You’re right. He knows what he’s doing.” Wirt offered her a small, but grateful smile. 

“Besides, sliding’s the best part of running the bases,” Greg chimed in. “Dipper doesn’t get to run them often, so he’s gotta slide whenever he’s got the chance.”

Mabel giggled. “You got that right, baby!”

Greg grinned over at her. “I don’t know if I’m a baby anymore, Mabel. I’m eight years old now! That’s just two years away from double digits.” He held up two fingers. “Will you and Dipper come visit for my birthday when I turn ten? It’s the biggest birthday!”

When Greg turned ten, the three of them would most likely be in college, Wirt reflected with both parts giddiness and uncertainty. “We’ll have to see where we’re at then, Greg.”

“I know, but that’s why we should start planning now,” he rationalized.

Mabel laughed. “We'll do our best, Greg. Double digits is very important.” She swept him into her lap, squeezing tight and nuzzling fondly. “But you’ll still be my baby Greg. It's settled.”

“Even when I’m forty-seven?” he giggled.

“Even when you're a hundred forty-seven!” she promised, laughing with him.

The crack of a bat had her looking up in time to watch the ball fall into the glove of center field. Dipper tagged up and decided to chance a go for home. He crossed it seconds before the catcher got a hold of the ball, and was the second run scored. Mabel whistled, giggling when he waved at them on his way to the dugout.

Greg waved back enthusiastically. “Hi, Dipper!”

Wirt offered up a small wave as well, unable to clap with his arm in its current condition, but his pride was bursting just the same. That was his boyfriend who just scored. His boyfriend who was playing his best for him. He was almost sad that this was the only game he’d see this season, but it also made it that much more special - that much more incredible - and he’d use whatever he saw this game to fuel his visions of the ones he’d hear about in texts.

And maybe he’d get Mabel to take pictures or video of some of the future games. As keepsakes, for memory’s sake and maybe a little bit because he looked so good in his uniform. Yeah. Because he did look good still. Really good.

The first half of the second inning ended with the next batter striking out, and Dipper’s team took the field with a two-run lead. Dipper settled on the pitcher's mound, rolling his shoulders as the first batter took the plate. Watching him take a few testing swings, Dipper rolled the ball between his fingers until they settled comfortably on the seams. He took him down with three solid strikes, and smiled to himself before looking up towards the stands. He could hardly believe Wirt was there. His sweet boyfriend was right there, in the stands, and not across the continent. It was unbelievable to him that he would fly the same day as getting hit by a stupid car just to see him, just so they could be together.

His fastball went right down the middle, the batter’s swing seemingly in slow motion. Dipper smiled, catching the ball when it was tossed back to him. He was going to put his all into every pitch and every at bat so that crazy, unexpected flight could be worth it.

No matter what the outcome of the game, though, it was already worth it as far as Wirt was concerned. The second he saw Dipper’s face it had been worth it. Watching him flourish as a pitcher and win the game, well, that would be a delightful perk. As much as watching him play at all was.

Sports weren’t something that came easily to Wirt, understanding them or playing them, and to be honest it was hard to be completely invested in the parts that didn’t directly involve Dipper, but he was going to do his best to follow along regardless. It was just fairly obvious that he enjoyed when his boyfriend was on the pitcher’s mound far more than he did any other part of the game. Even more than that though, he enjoyed Dipper’s pleasure at having him there and the way he threw himself into the game, each pitch picked carefully and quickly to get the best results.

There were only three batters that inning, though the last batter managed to get a piece of Dipper’s curve ball. It went almost straight up, the catcher throwing off his mask so he could keep an eye on it and catch it neatly in his glove.

The next few innings were steady, but Alameda’s pitcher was starting to show some wear. Several batters were walked, one homerun hit, and the next pitcher began warming up with the score five to zero. As Dipper came up to bat for the third time - his second up to bat one of the walks - as the seventh inning began, he was ready to hit the ball. More, he was ready for the seventh inning stretch. He wanted to go see his family, get his boyfriend’s opinion on the game and maybe just get his hands on him because he was so cute watching him on the stands, wearing his hat.

The first two pitches were high and outside, the third a little low but within the strike zone. Dipper adjusted his grip on the bat and waited for the next. He swung when he realized it was good, sending a foul ball down the third base, and ducked when the next pitch came directly at his head to avoid getting hit. Full count. Oh, boy.

“Homerun, Dipper! Homerun!” Greg called out, in full support of his admiral. “He can do it,” he told Wirt and Mabel on the side. “It’s all in the hips. And shoulders. And pretty much everywhere else.”

Wirt fiddled with Dipper’s hat nervously. It was okay if he got out, after all, but he knew how much his boyfriend didn’t want to strike out. He wouldn’t be trying so hard for some kind of hit if he didn’t care.

“You got this, Dipper!” Greg continued clapping. 

“Yeah, Dipper. Come on,” Wirt murmured under his breath, leaning forward to watch Dipper’s concentration. “You can do it.”

“You bet he can,” Mabel agreed.

The only person who wasn't so sure about it was Dipper. He swallowed, watching the pitcher ready himself and was quietly grateful for his own pitching knowledge when he saw where his fingers had settled. When the fast ball came at the speed his tired arm allowed, Dipper swung and was easily the most surprised person when he actually made the connection. It was a lob, sailing between first and second to bounce in the grass, and Dipper hit first seconds before the first baseman received the ball. Safe, he let out a surprised laugh.

Wirt laughed along with him, hand clutching over his heart as he slumped back in his seat. “Oh my gosh,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “Wow.”

“A real hit! Did you see that, Wirt? Dipper actually hit it!” Greg leapt off Mabel’s lap to basically jump for joy. “It’s not a homerun, but it’s good enough.”

“Yeah, I saw it.” Wirt looked out across the field at his boyfriend, waiting to catch his eye before pressing his fingers to his lips and then extending them out to him.

Dipper bit his lip to hold back the giggle, but mimicked the gesture. He'd really hit it. His pitching had been stellar, he'd gotten on base all three of his times at bat, and he'd stolen a few bases - though the stealing had been more for Greg's benefit. But it was easily his best game of the season, and he put that squarely on Wirt’s shoulders. His cute good luck charm.

“How many rounds are there?” Wirt asked as he watched him settle into position.

Greg laughed. “Innings, Wirt. And there are nine.”

“Which one are we on now?” He wanted to be near his boyfriend as soon as possible.

“The seventh.” Mabel shrugged, smile apologetic. “But the seventh inning stretch starts after Dipper’s team bats. It's basically just five minutes for everyone to get up and move around and get ready for the final two innings. Plus, Dipper’ll probably come over here. This is usually when he comes to grab his phone and text you adorable things.”

Wirt ducked his head, adjusting Dipper’s cap as a smile curved his lips. “How do you know what he texts me?” He nudged her lightly.

“Because I hear what he says out loud to you, and you're both romantic saps. It's adorable. Right, Greg?”

“Oh yeah. It’s always really cheesy.” Greg grinned back at him, laughing when Wirt reached out to ruffle his hair.

“It’s not always,” Wirt defended. “Sometimes it’s just Dipper whining about how much I’m not paying attention to him because I’m in class.”

“That’s true. Like on Thursday. Except you weren’t in class, you were in an ambulance and the doctor’s office.” Greg kicked at his ankle. “But you still texted him a lot of cheesy ‘I love you’ messages, so it counts.”

“It definitely counts,” Mabel agreed, and looked up when she noticed movement on the field. The second batter had been walked, Dipper advancing to second, and the pitchers traded out.

While he was still new, and with a nod of permission from the third base coach, Dipper began to inch off the bag and down the line.

“He’s gonna steal again! Is he gonna steal again?” Greg kept his voice hushed even while excitement flooded him, not wanting to give anything away. “Oh boy, I hope he steals again.”

Mabel giggled, ruffling his hair. “I bet he's thinking about it.”

He was, moving steadily closer to second. He had to scramble back when the pitcher threw towards the first baseman, but that only made it seem more of a dare. He waited patiently through the first two pitches, watching the relief pitcher carefully for an opportunity. When he pitched, he was always watching the runners, so he knew when this one forgot about him and ran.

At a call from the second baseman, the pitcher spun and threw wild as Dipper crossed the base. When the ball bounced into the outfield, he darted to third and only stopped because he saw the catcher get the ball. Dipper laughed, waving when the other team's pitcher glared at him, and turned to grin at his family instead.

“Oh my gosh, he’s impossible,” Wirt laughed, but waved at his boyfriend. “Don’t make the other team mad at you.” He spoke as if Dipper could hear him despite the distance.

“I think it’s too late for that,” Greg giggled, enjoying every second of ticking off the relief pitcher.

“Maybe if he knew how to throw, he wouldn't be so grumpy,” Mabel pointed out with her own giggle.

Dipper blew his boyfriend a kiss before tuning back into the game. The very next pitch ended in a homerun, and Dipper snickered his way across home plate. With the score now seven to nothing, he was feeling very confident in his team’s ability to win this one.

The score was still seven to nothing when a runner was picked off trying to steal second. “You're a bad influence, Pines.”

Hearing the tease, Dipper grinned at his coach on his way out of the dugout. “I try.” The worst part about having his boyfriend right there on the bleachers was his inability to reach out for him whenever he wanted, he decided as he made his way towards the bleachers.

Wirt had already carefully made his way down, waiting by the steps as Dipper crossed to him. He immediately snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him in for a sweet kiss, the bills of their hats bumping and knocked askew. A smile curved his lips as they pressed closer, even when the kiss had finished in favor of Wirt admiring his smudged, mussed up boyfriend.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting all game to do that,” he murmured, rubbing their noses together. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dipper grinned, unable to resist kissing him again. “It feels that way because you have been waiting the whole game. At least I have been.” He bounced a little, careful not to jostle him too much. “So how's it going? You’re not too bored?”

“Are you kidding?” Wirt laughed, purposefully knocking their hats together. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack with all those risky moves you’re pulling. Striking bases and stealing everyone’s bats. You’re unstoppable.”

“Oh my god. Stealing bases and throwing strikes, pilgrim.” Dipper twisted his cap to the side and stole Wirt’s to give him a solid kiss. “I love you.”

Wirt’s grin was bright when it broke, all shining love and sheer pleasure. “At least I had the right sport this time,” he told him, giving his hip a pat. “And I love you, too. You really are amazing out there, I’m pretty much loving every second of this.”

“Good. I'd really hate it if you were bored out of your mind.” Dipper bumped their noses together, letting a giggle slip. “You do look really cute sitting on the bleachers in my hat.”

“Yeah?” Wirt scuffed his shoes on the ground and ducked his head. “Well, gotta look as cute for you as you are for me. You… you’re really something. I don't even know if I have the words to describe just how you look and how that makes me feel, but I want to find them and write it all down so I can have that reminder when I can’t see you and touch you.” His fingertips skimmed his side, then brushed his arm, warm from the California sun even in February.

Though his cheeks pinkened, Dipper caught his hand and lifted it to his lips to press a kiss to the palm. “Don’t worry. I've got faith in your way with words. My poetic pilgrim.”

Wirt stroked his cheek lightly. “I know you do. Just like I’ve got faith in your pitching. I’m so happy I get to see you like this. You’re seriously simultaneously the cutest and… um… well, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he admitted quietly, careful to keep his voice low as he bounced in place a little before pecking his lips. “I love you.”

Embarrassed pleasure had the color in his cheeks growing darker. He hadn’t been expecting to be called hot, the idea of his boyfriend seeing him that way causing a giddy warmth to fill his gut and send the butterflies into a frenzy. “Oh. Um. Mmhm.” Unsure what else to do, Dipper wrapped both arms around his waist, pulling him closer to seal their lips together.

A soft, breathless laugh bubbled its way into the kiss, but the way Dipper deepened it distracted Wirt from how adorable he was quite quickly. He longed to hold onto him back, with both arms, so gingerly laid his cast against his shoulder and his other arm completed the circle. But given his reaction to such a downplayed version of what Wirt was feeling for him, he resolved not to go into details lest he distract his boyfriend from the next two innings.

“Do you have to go back soon?” he asked when they both had a moment to breathe, toying with the curls poking out from beneath his cap.

“Yeah. But it's the last push. Two and a half innings left. Then I'm just gonna grab my stuff and meet you right back here.” Dipper gave him a careful squeeze, resting their brows together. “I really love that you're here.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell with the way you keep looking over at us and not paying attention,” Wirt teased, nuzzling him gently.

“I'm paying plenty of attention to the game.” He grinned, a hand dipping into Wirt’s back pocket to playfully press him that much closer. “It's just that you’re so much cuter than what's on the field.”

Red blossomed across his cheeks and his mind went unfortunately black, no witty comebacks to be found. “I- um…o-oh.” His heart was racing, his touch firm in his pocket, and his stomach coiled with something like anticipation. Something just as fluttery and light. “You’re- you’re doing it again.”

“Yeah.” Dipper ducked his head, muffling his giggles against his neck. “Only because you're seriously cute about it.”

His laughter was warm and tickled, making him squirm when his hand stayed just where it was. “Only because it’s- I don’t know. It’s different and new and- and no one’s ever- because obviously- ugh. Fine, you win again. Jerk.”

“Today's a winning kind of day, obviously.” Dipper nipped at his hickey teasingly before bringing their lips together again.

Wirt’s eyes closed as he sank into it, letting it end sweetly so the taste of their kiss would follow Dipper to the dugout and out to the mound. “Well, you deserve every win,” he hummed, letting his arms fall from around him. “Good luck with the rest of the game. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dipper stepped back, waved at their siblings. “See you after the ninth, pilgrim. I'm not even going to waste time changing unless you care that I've got dirt on these things.”

He couldn’t help it. Now that Dipper had said something, his eyes immediately sought out his pants and took in the dirt stains as if they were works of art on a canvas - a really nice canvas, mind you - then shook his head with tightly pursed lips. “Nope. No, don’t- don’t particularly care,” he replied, clearing his throat as he lifted his gaze. “Whatever you want to do. ‘S fine with me.”

“Okay. As much as I love your crazy hat hair, here.” Dipper tucked the hat back onto his head. “See you soon, pilgrim.”

“Yeah. See you.” Wirt clutched the hat to his head protectively and nodded, forcing his eyes to stay on Dipper’s until he turned around and even then he left them focused on the number on the back of his jersey until Greg called him to scramble back up to the bleachers.

When Dipper returned to the dugout to grab his glove, the catcher called out to him. “What's up?”

“Who was the guy?”

Dipper smiled slowly. “My boyfriend, Wirt. He's visiting from out of town.”

“Oh. That's cool of him.” The catcher tugged on his mask with a grin. “How's Brad taking it?”

“As well as you'd expect, but I don't usually let him dictate my life.” Anymore. “Come on. Two and a half more innings and we're out.”

“I heard that. My hand needs a long rest.”

Dipper laughed, following him out. As much as his teammates neglected him off the field, he never felt lost during practice and especially not during games. He mattered to everyone when he reached the mound. But when the game ended and congratulations were over, he'd be nothing but background noise for everyone but the guy sitting on the bleachers in a pine tree cap.

That was the guy he was playing for, the one he'd do anything for. And it was incredible and stunning to know that Wirt would do anything for him right back. He hadn’t let getting hit by a car stop him from flying all the way to California. He hadn’t let a demon destroy them. He'd pulled the closing line of a spell out of his hat to save them all from a murderous creature. His boyfriend, his poetic pilgrim, was an astounding person, and Dipper was so proud to be able to claim him.

He was buzzing with pride through every pitch that inning and the next, taking his time when he had to return to the dugout just for a chance to let his gaze linger. He was ready for the game to be over so he could have Wirt all to himself. Or as close as possible since he hadn’t spoken to Greg and he wanted to hear his honorary little brother’s opinion through his inevitable sugar high.

When the bottom of the ninth came, the score still seven to nothing, Dipper walked out to the mound for the last time. He rolled the ball in his hand, fingers settling on the seams. He wasn’t as fresh as he'd been at the beginning of the game, arm starting to tire. But he trained to pitch all nine innings. Dipper had confidence in this, more in some ways since he was familiar with the swings he was being presented. He knew the strengths of these batters and, most importantly, knew their weaknesses.

Between being tired and the inconsistent calling of inside pitches by the umpire, he nearly walked the second batter, getting him out on a swing that swished over his slider. So when the third batter stepped up to the plate, Dipper was finished. He hadn’t had much practice with this, only able to do so sparingly with his own team and never during a game. It took a little longer for his fingers to feel right on the ball, gaze drifting towards the stands and the three people there just for him, especially Wirt.

Said boyfriend leaned forward in his seat, heart hammering as Dipper prepared his next pitch. He could tell he was tired, and from Greg’s astonishment, it was clear that pitchers didn’t tend to stay on the mount for the entire game. But he still had faith in him. If Dipper was determined enough, he’d be able to take out this last batter. 

Wirt waved to him when he glanced his way. No matter what happened, if he struck out this batter or walked him or whatever, he was still incredibly proud and awed by his boyfriend. No matter what he was going to love him and shower him with the affection and attention he more than deserved on the car ride home.

Dipper laughed softly, turning towards the batter and running numbers. He could do this. He knew he had one more solid pitch left in him before he'd really be running on fumes and luck, and he was going to waste it on something crazy. “Oh, boy,” he murmured, the numbers and a pitch clicking in his mind. “Please work, please work, please work...”

He threw a fastball, a little low and just a smidgen outside, and the batter swung. The crack of the bat was loud in a stadium that had hushed in anticipation, but Dipper was ready for it and for the ball to rush right for him. The math hadn't been perfect, his own pitch a little wobbly, so he had to jump. But the ball still came for him and still ended up in his glove, the last out of the game.

“Oh my gosh.” Wirt actually stood up from his seat, his hand over his heart as the fear that gripped him when the ball smacked the bat ebbed. “He did it.”

Greg practically leapt down from the bleachers as well with the way he shot up. “That was awesome! He caught it! How’d he do that?” 

“I have no idea! Oh my gosh!” Mabel hopped in place, plucking Greg up to twirl in place. “And they won! It was a total shutout!” And it had almost been a perfect game for her twin. Three hits and only one person on base, but no runs had been scored. “He did great!”

“He’s incredible. Oh my gosh.” Wirt went to drag his hand through his hair, nearly knocking off Dipper’s cap in the process and fumbled to keep it safe atop his head. “That’s _my_ boyfriend out there.”

“Come on! We’ve gotta get down there so we can say hi and congratulations!” Greg squirmed in Mabel’s arms, pointing down the steps to the stands.

“We absolutely do!” Mabel set him down, ushering him ahead. “Come on, Wirt! You should be first to congratulate your boyfriend.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” he laughed, hurrying on down the steps. “You don’t have to push.”

“Push him!” Greg cheered, giggling when Wirt cast him an unimpressed glance over his shoulder, though nearly tripped and fell down the bleachers himself, just barely catching himself on one of the handrails - thankfully with the unbroken arm. “Nice save.”

“You shh.” Wirt rolled his eyes and continued the rest of the way down with ease, eager to wrap himself up in the arms of a star pitcher and kiss him silly.

Dipper kept the ball tucked in his glove, securely held under his arm while he went down the line to high five and bestow a distracted “good game” to the other team’s players. The moment he was out, he made his way off the field. His things could wait until he got his hands on his boyfriend.

He laughed as he grabbed him, arms wrapped around his waist to pull Wirt close. “Hi, we won, hi. I didn’t think that would work, so wow. I love you.” The last was muffled against Wirt’s lips, Dipper giddily stealing a kiss.

Wirt kissed him deeply, all passion and pride as his fingers clutched at his jersey. “If anyone was going to be able to pull that off, it was you.” Breathless, he rubbed their noses together before claiming a second and third, just the start of a series of light, fluttering kisses to pepper across his face. “I’m so- can’t believe you’re mine. I love you.”

“I love you too. I'm just-” He couldn’t fight the giggle. “You’re here and you got to see and- Mine. You’re all mine right back.” Dipper captured his lips again, giggles spilling into the kiss. 

“No one else I’d want to belong to,” Wirt laughed, nuzzling him until their caps nearly fell off, bills knocked askew. “You’re- you were so good out there. I’m so glad I got to see you play. Like, really play.”

“So am I. This made my whole season.” Dipper gave him a squeeze, rubbing their noses together. “You’re getting this ball, by the way. Game ball.”

“Will you sign it for me?” Wirt grinned, nose scrunching even without him having to try for his boyfriend’s sake.

“Oh my god. If you want me to, sure. Why not?” Grinning, Dipper rested their brows together. “I love you so much. You’re seriously the best.”

“Gotta do what I can to keep you around,” he murmured, tightening his grip on him to keep him close for a minute longer. “Anything you need help with before we head out? Any peanuts or cracker jacks you want to get from the snack bar?” Wirt nibbled gently on his lower lip.

“I'm good. Kind of hoping for lunch on the way back. I still have to grab my stuff though.”

“And say hi to me and Greg. We're feeling very neglected.”

Dipper laughed, but stayed snugly pressed against his boyfriend. “Hi.”

“You get to see him everyday,” Wirt defended, though color rose in his cheeks. “I have to take these moments when I can get them.”

“Yeah, but I don’t get to see him every day,” Greg pointed out, then beamed at Dipper. “I think you’ve gotta be the best pitcher ever. You didn’t let them get any runs! You showed them who’s boss of the field!”

“I tried to anyway.” He gave Wirt a last kiss before withdrawing, leaving a arm tucked around his waist. “Definitely had fun stealing bases, though.”

“I didn’t even know you could steal that many bases in one game. They couldn’t catch you. I’m gonna tell everyone on my team when I get back.” Greg puffed up his chest with a pride reserved solely for his second big brother. “My honorary brother is the best baseball player in all the high schools everywhere. Oh! I gotta tell Trevor, too! He’ll be so jealous we got to see your real pitching action _and_ base stealing.”

Dipper crouched to tug him into a hug, giving him a firm squeeze. “You'll have to tell me what he says, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll record him. Secretly,” Greg giggled, squeezing back. “Thanks for letting us come see you play, Dipper. It really was the best. And the cracker jacks were yummy, too.”

“If you guys are going to keep talking about cracker jacks, I'm going to have to get a box after all.”

“Greg and I can get you a box,” Mabel offered.

“Cool.” Dipper rose and took Wirt's hand. “Come on, pilgrim. Let's go grab my stuff.”

“Am I seriously allowed to do that?” Wirt blinked, following his boyfriend despite the question niggling in his mind.

“Sure.” Dipper didn’t see why not. Friends went to the locker rooms sometimes, and they weren’t going to be there long. “I want you with me.”

“Okay.” He wanted to be there, too, so fell into step alongside Dipper, a thought occurring to him the closer they got and the more of Dipper’s teammates he saw. “But um… will we see… your uh- your ex? Potentially? Which I’m fine with, absolutely, I just- to prepare, you know? Mentally and- and… and I’m gonna prepare anyway, who am I kidding?”

“His name’s Brad. Please don't think about him as my ex. He's been bugging me most of the game about you, so if we do see him, I don’t care. You don’t even have to really talk to him. It's fine.” Dipper laced their fingers. “I'm yours, Wirt. All the way.”

Wirt squeezed his hand. “I know. I know and it’s okay, I’m not doubting that. It’s just a little surreal, you know? I know there was this whole life you had before me, obviously, but confronting parts of it is this whole other thing entirely. I mean, you get it right? Wasn’t it a little weird for you when you met Sara? Not that we ever dated or anything…” he trailed off, embarrassment over the whole thing threatening to prod him. “Why was he bugging you about me though? Why does he even care who you’re seeing, it’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Over a year.” Dipper shrugged, giving his hand a squeeze. Sara had never bothered him. She was too easy-going and he'd been too happy and relieved to just see Wirt when they'd met. He hadn’t had a chance to compare himself to his former crush. Jason Funderberker had caused more discomfort than Sara, so he hummed. “I do get it, though. Why you're uncomfortable. But, um, can I tell you about him later? I'd rather wait until it's just us.”

Wirt nodded quickly. “Of course. Yeah, whatever you want. I would too. Wait until it’s just us. Mmhm.” He lifted his hand to press an apologetic kiss to the back. “Sorry. It’s really not a big deal, I promise.”

“Yeah, but I figure since I don't tell you it could become a big deal. Plus, it'll give me a chance to tell you how much better you are than he is.” Dipper cupped his cheek, pausing to steal a kiss before banding an arm around his waist. “Because you're absolutely a million times better.”

Wirt hummed, leaning into him after he pressed his lips to his temple, a smile curving them. “I don’t know if I have to be better, necessarily,” he teased with a chuckle. “All that matters is that I’m perfect for you. It’s not a competition. If you say I’m what you want, then I’m what you want. That’s all there is to it.”

Which was one of the things that made him better. Dipper pushed open the door for the locker room and guided his boyfriend to the one he'd selected.

The catcher looked over after pulling his shirt off to change. “Yo, Dip, seriously nice pitching today.”

“Thanks, man. How's your hand?”

“Broken. Like always.” He flexed his fingers with a grin before nodding towards Wirt. “This is the boyfriend, right? Will?”

“Wirt. This is Aaron, pilgrim. Our catcher.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you.” Wirt nodded, trying not to glance away and not stare at the same time. Right, locker room. Guys changing. Oh boy. “Um. Great game. I’m sure Dipper doesn’t make catching easy.”

“Nah, he's great. I mean, like, actually catching those fireballs blows. But he almost never throws them wild, so that's easy on me.”

Dipper grinned, unzipping his duffel to find his sneakers. “If I throw wild, it's seventh inning and coach is already letting the relief pitcher warm up.”

“You, um… you didn’t do that this time,” Wirt pointed out, grateful for the excuse to watch Dipper. As hot as he was in his uniform, he could handle that over bare-chested baseball strangers any day. Especially since he definitely enjoyed it more. “It looked like you had a lot of control almost the whole time.”

“I try to last all nine most games, but I'm not dumb enough to risk throwing my arm out when I do have an off-day.”

“Dude, that last pitch today almost made my heart stop. Like, damn, are we gonna have to pull out a relief pitcher to get the last out? And then - _bam_ \- it's in your glove.” Aaron pulled on a t-shirt. “I don’t know how you pulled that out.”

“It's all in the math, man.” Dipper sat on the bench to remove his cleats.

“I'm sure it takes more than math,” Brad said from behind Wirt.

Dipper shrugged, shoulders tensing just a little despite his previous assurances for Wirt not to worry. “Obviously. But that's a pretty big part of my style.”

Wirt didn’t miss that either with how he was watching him, only just managing not to jump at the sound of a voice behind him, but he kept from bracing himself. It wasn’t a big deal. Brad wasn’t a big deal. Even if he was talking about him during the game, and they’d hardly said two words to each other so Wirt could only imagine what he could possibly have to say about him. He went to cross his arms so he could comfortably fidget without looking like he was fidgeting from nerves, but bumped his cast when he forgot it was there. Changing gears, he adjusted Dipper’s pine tree hat instead and held onto the bill.

“When it comes to calculations, there’s really nothing he can’t figure out. His mind’s really quick and his reflexes… are sharp.” Wirt quickly clamped his lips shut when he realized he was speaking. To baseball guys about a sport he knew precious little about. But he knew Dipper. At least, he liked to think he did. “Or something. Yeah.”

Though Wirt couldn’t see, Brad gestured towards him and rolled his eyes as if the shy show of support was proof of what he'd been telling Dipper. It only had his chin lifting. His boyfriend was sweet and amazing. “Thanks, pilgrim.” He rose, pushed his cleats into his bag. “Let's get going.”

“Okay.” Wirt reached for his hand as soon as it was available and held on. “If you’re sure you’re ready.”

“You haven't even changed,” Brad pointed out. “Like you do every week. In the locker rooms.”

“Could you be more of a ten year old? Oh my god. You've barely talked to me since I dumped you for exactly this kind of crap, you annoying control freak. And now you're acting like a jealous loser. I don’t have time for it.” Dipper rolled his eyes, tugging on Wirt’s hand to lead him away. “Come on, babe.”

Wide-eyed, Wirt bit down on his lip and laced their fingers together as he stumbled after him. “Um, right. Okay. Bye, congratulations on winning,” he called back, more for the catcher than Brad, then focused on getting out of there as soon as possible. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“You didn’t. It's okay. You’re sweet and he's a serious tool.” Dipper wrapped his arm around his waist once they were out. “He spends the whole game basically calling you a skinny loser with no chance and then tries to make you jealous because _he_ is and just- oh my god, I can't believe I dated that guy.”

Wirt glanced at him, observing his annoyance with a bubble of love and a little bit of amusement. “Guess it takes a little bit more than muscle and good looks to keep your interest, and he just couldn’t get with your style.” He kissed his cheek, hoping to lighten the mood and ease him back down. “Skinny loser trumps jealous ten-year-old any day.”

Dipper huffed, lips quirking before he captured Wirt’s. “He just doesn't know who he's messing with. I bet Greg’d give him the old kickeroo.”

“The old kickeroo _and_ the ol’ one-two,” Wirt chuckled, rubbing their noses together. “Hey, it’s okay. You love me, so that’s what matters to me in the end. And yeah, you dated him for a bit even though he’s a jerk. That doesn’t make you anything less in my eyes.”

“I really do love you.” Dipper adjusted the bag on his shoulder, kissing the scrunch of Wirt's nose before taking his hand. “Come on. I'm seriously starving, and Mabel and Greg promised me cracker jacks.”

Wirt shook his head and laughed. “Shouldn’t we be getting you something a little more substantial than cracker jacks?”

“Cracker jacks first, substantial food later. Maybe pizza. That’s a good, post-baseball cliche.”

“Whatever you say.” Wirt kissed him soundly through his smile. “Whatever you want. You’re the star of the day so you’ll get zero complaints from me. My baseball stud.”

“Oh my god.” A blush flooded his cheeks, so he pulled Wirt into a hug and buried his face in the curve of his neck. “I love you.”

Helpless to stop the giggles that bubbled out, Wirt held him close and kissed the curve of his ear. “I love you, too. Stud muffin,” he snickered, thoroughly enjoying himself now. 

“No, shut up. Oh my god.” Dipper muffled his own giggles with Wirt's neck. “You’re such a dork.”

“You know you love it,” he teased, bumping their hips together. “Besides, you’re the one calling me ‘babe.’ Don't think I didn't hear that back there.”

“What? I- oh.” Dipper shrugged, nipped his neck before drawing back and tugging him along. “I guess that may have slipped out. Maybe.”

“Mmhm.” Wirt didn’t sound convinced, but let it slide as he tipped the bill of Dipper’s purple baseball cap down over his eyes. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

He grinned, pushing his hat back. He'd been quietly thinking about Wirt with that petname since he'd made the tape, but had been deleting it before sending his texts because he hadn’t been sure how Wirt would take it. This was perfect. “Wouldn’t dream of it, babe. Pilgrim. Yup.” 

“Now you’re just messing with me. Stop it.”

“You’re just so cute. I can't help it.” Dipper tucked his arm around his waist, tempted to slid a hand into his pocket but not willing to push his luck. 

“You better start to help it, or no cracker jacks for you.” Wirt stuck out his tongue, delighted by the easy teasing, the back and forth they could fall into that he never wanted to give up for anything. 

“But, babe,” he whined, hand slipping into his pocket anyway, “I played so well just for you. Don't be mean.”

“Oh my gosh. You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Wirt laughed, cheeks flushing darkly as he grinned at him. “I’m not being mean, I’m being serious. Don’t call me ‘babe.’”

“That's not your serious face. It's your flustered adorable face.” Dipper kissed his cheek, the new petname settled firmly in his mind. It was perfect.

“No, be quiet.” Wirt covered his face with his hand, a few more giggles escaping when he nudged him. “I’m not going to be babe. End of story.”

“You’re already babe. You have been since I made you the tape. I almost wrote it instead of your name, but since you weren’t aware of the development I decided not to confuse you.” Dipper kissed his cheek again, unable to keep his own laugh from bubbling up. “Welcome to the know.”

“Nope. I refuse.” Wirt shook his head, lips twisting to try and erase his smile, heart fluttering between adoration and uncertainty. It really wasn’t a petname that he liked, ‘babe’ and ‘baby’ both terms of endearment that left him with a sour taste. But at the same time… it was a little bit adorable when Dipper used it. Only a little though. “I won’t answer you if you call me that.”

“You have so far,” Dipper pointed out, but he resisted repeating it. At least for the time being. They'd have the whole summer for Wirt to get used to it. “Just like the other nicknames. Except, y’know, pilgrim is from the Unknown and Greg started captain.”

“Yeah, I know, but neither of those are babe,” Wirt added. “I like captain and- well…” He shrugged, bumping his shoulder a little as he ducked his head. “I like when you call me pilgrim. I like the word. Babe is just like… what greasy surfer dudes call out to girls they pass by on the street.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Dipper laughed, nuzzling him. “That's only a little bit true. Babe is like... a not awful version of baby. That wouldn't suit you. But babe does, trust me. I've heard it pretty much everywhere basically my whole life. It's your fault for falling for a guy from California.”

Wirt pursed his lips, adamant as he shook his head. “No.”

“Mm-mm-mm.” Dipper spun him around, sealing their lips together. “It'll grow on you. You’re still my poetic pilgrim and the captain to my admiral. You’re just... also a total babe.”

Wirt leaned away, pushing down on the bill of Dipper’s cap to stop his kiss even as it and the spin made his stomach flip flop and heart stutter. “No,” he told him again. “And if you keep it up, I’m going to come up with an awful nickname for you. Just you watch.”

Dipper giggled, quickly biting his lip to smother the sound. “Jerk.” He pushed his cap back to steal another kiss despite him. “This is seriously slowing down food progress, though. Come on, pilgrim. I want to celebrate the win and cuddle with my cute boyfriend.” He wouldn’t be able to for any other game.

“Hey, you have no one to blame for that but yourself.” Wirt kissed him back nonetheless, slipping his hand into his boyfriend's once again to him over to their siblings. “Have to say that is a pretty good plan though. No objections from me on celebrating and cuddles.”

Broken arm and babe aside, with Dipper looking as cute as he did and having him close for the rest of the weekend, Wirt found he really couldn’t complain about much at all. Though the rest of the school year would be tough, no more breaks until summer vacation, he was confident that if there was anyone he could do this with, then it was Dipper Pines. They could do it together, and the road ahead would lead to anything but ruin. 


End file.
